
Glass :l 

Book 

Copyii^ht)^^. 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 



SWEET JUNE 



BY 



ALEXANDER HYND-LINDSAY 




>s 



BROADWAY PUBLISHING CO. 

835 Broadway y New York 

BRANCH OFFICES: WASHINGTON. BALTIMORE 

INDIANAPOLIS. NORFOLK. 









Copyright, 1912, 

By 

Alexander Hynd-Lindsay. 



.QUASI 2368 



TO MY MOTHER 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Come Sweet June. 3 

1 Have Had my Day ^. 7 

I am not Blind 12 

The Birth of May 14 

The Crowning of the Queen 16 

The Queen's Response 16 

Ode to the Sky-lark. ^. 17 

Bubba Love , 20 

Requiem ,. . 25 

The Song of the Loom ^. 2'y 

The Golden Calf (Burlesque) 30 

Let's Go On 33 

Ode to the Mount 37 

Centenary Ode to Lincoln, 1809- 1909 39 

The Ouleout in June 42 

The Nativity — .: 43 

Ode to Stephens Collins Foster 45 

The Pot-House Politician y, . . 47 

Life 51 

A Life-Prayer , 54 

To Music 55 

Evolution , 57 

To a Primrose. 5S 

(Translation) Horace, Book i, Ode IX.... 61 

To 62 

Sin ^ 6s 

A Woman's Heart . 64 

Growth 65 

The Loss of H. M. S. ''Victoria" 66 



Contenw 

PAGE 

In Memory of Mrs. John Darnall , 69 

Dying Summer ^2 

Scotch Dialect Verse 

My Faither 73 

My Nannie O ! 74 

Somebody's Bairn , y/ 

Hypocrisy 80 

Other Dialect Verses 

Meanness , , 82 

Christmas is not Christmas When the Chil- 
dren are Away. 85 

The Old Man 88 

An Important Question , . 92 

Blue Points 94 

The Blues 98 

Git Thare 102 

Feehng Fine 103 

Keep A Smiling 105 

A Man , 107 

Songs 

Mollie Sings 109 

Elkhorn , 112 

I Want to Go Back to the Old Town 114 

June — 116 

March ,. . ., 117 

Memories 119 

Kathleen 121 

Mollie Maguire 123 

The Harvest 124 



SWEET JUNE 

O COME SWEET JUNE! 



I 

O come, sweet June ! 
For I'm aweary of the frost and snow — 
The cold gray mists the sleeping hill-tops screen. 
I long to see again a blossom grow. 

O come, sweet June ! 
And weave thy magic green. 

2 

O come, sweet June ! 
'For heaven comes when thou art laughing near. 
'My heart is singing when the buddlings blow. 
For gloomy winter has been long and drear. 

O come, sweet June ! 
And kiss away the snow. 

3 

O come, sweet June ! 

And bring with thee the meadow lark again; 



©toeet 3iune 



I long to see the blue-bird and wee wren. 
And hear the thrush sing in the after-rain. 
O come, sweet June ! 
And start the choirs again. 

4 
O come, sweet June! 
I'm tired of white. O send me God's sweet 

green 
Spangled with dew drops glistening in the light. 
Make me forget what all the past has been. 
O come, sweet June ! 
For long has been the night. 

5 
O come, sweet June ! 

So I can brood and dream my soul away. 

Draining thy mystic draughts from earth and 

sky. 

Till I forget that time pulsates with day. 

O come, sweet June ! 

To where the dreamlands lie. 

6 
O come, sweet June ! 
For thou art loveliness where'er thou art. 
Whether in wooded hill, or valley green. 
Come ! spill the wild-flower's nectar on my heart. 
O come, sweet June! 
My rosy summer-Queen. 



Stoeet 3fune 



7 
O come, sweet June ! 

What would I give to hear thy gentle tap 

On my heart's door — when opened have thee 

throw 

A bunch of apple blossoms from thy lap ? 

O come, sweet June ! 

While sweets from orchards blow. 

8 
O come, sweet June ! 
And let me hear the brown soft-fluted thrush 
Pour out her melody at golden noon, 
While love-sick flowers lift their heads and blush. 
O come, sweet June ! 
You cannot come too soon. 

9 
O come, sweet June ! 
Thy fragrant days are only far too few — 
The days when drowsy bees leave trails of sweet, 
And roses smile beneath their veil of dew. 
O come, sweet June ! 
While waves the wind-swept wheat. 

10 

O come, sweet June ! 
Or I'll forget just how to kiss thy lips 
And hold thy hand love-pressed as lovers do. 
Or braid thy brow with violets and cowslips. 

O come, sweet June ! 
While lovers meet and woo. 



Stoeet 3!une 



II 

O come, sweet June ! 
And let me see again thy image fair 
Mirrored in yonder fairy-haunted stream ; 
Where elfins braid and tie thy sun-dyed hair. 

O come, sweet June ! 
While fairies dance and dream. 

12 

O come, sweet June ! 
And let me see the sun low in the west 
Spill out his gold along the azure line, 
Wrapping with purple veil the hills for rest 

O come, sweet June ! 
While stars sing on, and shine. 

13 

O come, sweet June ! 
For long have been the weary months of pain. 
And slow have been my waiting, watching hours, 
When I oft prayed for blossoms, sunshine, rain 

O come, sweet June ! 
With showers wake up the flowers. 

14 
O come, sweet June ! 
And when you come, O may your stay be long. 
O June, go slow, a poet loves you so. 
Forever he could listen to thy song. 
Stay on, sweet June! 
Or hnger as you go. 



g)toeet 3fune 



I HAVE HAD MY DAY 

I 

O I have had my day, lad, 

I have had my day. 
In the morning time of youth, lad, 

At my feet the world lay. 
My days were glad and golden 

From dawn till twilight's meet, 
When every sound was melody, 

And every dream was sweet. 
No shadow crossed my rosy path. 

I never had a care. 
A boy then, 'twas joy then. 

lad, my day was fair ! 

2 
O I have had my day, lad, 

1 have had my day. 

Now my day is not so long, lad, 

And my sky has turned to gray. 
The sun shines not so fair and bright 

As in my youthful morn. 
And here and there along the road 

I feel the pricking thorn. 
Some sorrows I have had, lad, 

Have brought me good and ill. 
And yet, lad, I'll bet, lad, 

Tm deeply happy still. 



©toeet 3fune 



3 
O when the charm is gone, lad, 

Of all the opening years. 
When love's young joys have faded, 

Till we feel the salty tears. 
When youthful visions flee, lad, 

Then duty comes to stay. 
To do our best, and guard our trust 

Lights up the manward way. 
For life is but a school, lad. 

Where words are hard to spell. 
The test, lad, at best, lad : 

Is to learn our lesson well. 



4 
Yes, I have had my day, lad — 

My day of luck and chance. 
When I felt proud and strong, lad. 

And full of sweet romance. 
But I have made mistakes, lad, 

Fve made them time again. 
When oft I felt a quiet contempt 

For wiser, better men. 
But I have learned long since, lad, 

To walk before I fly. 
In my round, lad, I've found, lad, 

Far stronger men than I. 

5 
When we grow wise with years, lad, 

The more we praise than scorn. 
8 



g)toeet 3Iune 



And for the worth of others, lad, 

A new respect is born. 
For learn you will in time, lad, 

We all before we die. 
That honest praise for honest work, 

Makes strong the friendly tie. 
A winning word of cheer, lad. 

Come ! speak it while we may. 
A smile, lad, the while, lad. 

Will light us on the way. 

6 

Not all the great or good, lad, 

Not all the men of fame. 
Not all the souls of sterling worth, 

Nor those of powerful name, 
Were to the purple born, lad. 

Nor slept in beds of gold. 
Nor nestled in the lap of ease 

Within the rich man's fold. 
But o'er life's burning sands, lad. 

They walked through starless nights. 
Obscure, lad, and poor, lad. 

They rose to dizzy heights. 

7 
O what if you be poor, lad. 

Unnoticed and unknown. 
Remember you are rich indeed 

If all but honor's gone. 
The riches are within, lad, 

The heart hath wealth untold. 



Stoeet 3fune 



A peaceful conscience, mind at ease, 

Surpass a mint of gold. 
Our life's an open book, lad, 

Where every blot is seen. 
All's done, lad, and won, lad, 

If honor's page is clean. 

8 
O I have had my day, lad, 

O lad, and so will you. 
And in the round of life, lad, 

Some friends will prove untrue, 
Because you stood and dared, lad — 

Stood! in your manly might. 
Because you loved the truth, lad, 

And fought for God and right. 
The conscience hidden in the breast 

Where no eye of sage can scan. 
It fights, lad, indicts, lad. 

The wrong within the man. 

9. 
O deep and dark is sin, lad, 

In every race and clan. 
It hardens all within, lad. 

And sinks the better man. 
If sin were bitter first, lad. 

No soul would ever fall. 
The first taste is as honey sweet. 

The after taste is gall. 
Its seeds are in us all, lad, 

In rich as well as poor. 

10 



©toeet 3[une 



The sin, lad, within, lad. 

Will bring the harvest sure. 

10 

But this I hope and pray, lad, 

In all your manly strife, 
That you'll be brave, sincere and sweet 

Through all the ways of life. 
And to the fellow-down, lad, 

Be sympathetic — kind. 
Keep to the world of men, lad, 

An open heart and mind. 
O live and love the truth, lad, 

Make it your only goal. 
The truth, lad, forsooth, lad, 

Will make the perfect soul. 

II 

O the day is coming soon, lad. 

Its rosy dawn I see, 
When peace shall reign o'er all the earth 

And men shall brothers be. 
No vulgar rich shall grind the poor, 

No one shall be in need. 
For liberty shall be the law. 

And love the working creed. 
When golden deeds from golden thoughts 

Shall crown our every plan. 
Then love, lad, will prove, lad, 

The brotherhood of man. 



II 



S)toeet 31une 



I AM NOT BLIND* 

I 

I am not blind. 

Though eyes are closed to flower and sky and 

sod 
And to those childhood spots where oft I've 

trod — 
O ! men are blind whose souls are bhnd to God. 

I am not blind. 

2 

I am not blind. 

So long as faith within the heart can prove 
That all rich blessings come from Him above. 
I feel the brooding of a Father's love. 

I am not blind. 

3 

I am not blind ; 

For who is blind whose trust is strong, serene? 
Who sees the real in the realm unseen? 
The things that perish are the things now seen. 

I am not blind. 

4 

I am not blind ; 

For on my path before, all's light! all's light! 

* To Mrs. Wm. Robb, Helena Station, Kentucky. 

12 



S)toeet 3fune 



(That soul sees most who knows and does the 

right. 
He is not blind who walks by faith not sight. 

I am not blind. 

5 
I am not blind, 

iWhen golden grace weighs more than blackened 

dross, 

And heaven's gain counts more than earthly loss. 

I am not blind ! I see ! I bear my cross ! 

I am not blind. 

6 

I am not blind ; 

For God made eyes on all my finger-tips 
Ay ! when I kiss I know my children's lips. 
Love may be blind, but mothers make no slips. 

I am not blind. 

7 

I am not blind. 

I know the spot where every home-bush grows ; 
I feel sweet violet's breath as now it blows. 
I see the blossom of my favorite rose. 

I am not blind. 

8 

I am not blind. 

Age cannot dim these eyes with which I see, 
'Nor death's damps quench this heaven-born light 
in me. 

13 



©toeet 3Iune 



The light from God shines on eternally. 

I am not blind. 



I am not blind. 

Before 'twas dark, till I my Savior met ; 
He spoke the word, and in the sunshine let. 
O! my soul's sun shall never, never set. 

I am not blind. 



THE filRTH OF MAY 

I 

Men and maidens, come together 
In this fair and bright May weather ; 
Come ! with graceful step — advance 
And 'round the merry May-pole dance ; 
O taste these heart- joys while they last. 
Leave dark-browed sorrow with the past. 

2 

O lovely morn so sweet and still. 
That bodes to man no thought of ill. 
Breathe softly thy warm breath, O Spring; 
As odorous buds are blossoming, 
While virgin leaves tune with the wind, 
And bees leave trails of sweet behind. 

14 



Stoeet 3fune 



3 
Come, come and drouse no more abed. 
When birds for hours have matins said. 
The sun's been up an hour or two 
And sucked from every flower the dew. 
Come ! usher in this glad new day — 
The sweet nativity of May. 

4 
See! the whole woodland swell in sight 
With budding beauty fair and bright. 
Dost thou not hear the brooklet sing — 
A living and a vocal thing. 
And how the field lark to be free 
Pours forth his flood of melody. 

5 
O come and celebrate this morn 

When jewels every blade adorn. 

For love on such an hour as this, 

Would break the silence with a kiss, 

And paint her blush on every flower, 

And smile with every passing shower. 

6 
Come now while violets blow and peep. 
While thrushes sing, and robins cheep, 
While lillies pale, and bridegroom's posies 
Steal blushes red from damask roses. 
This is the hour to crown our Queen, 
When snow has gone from gown of green. 

15 



S»toeet 3fune 



THE CROWNING OF THE QUEEN 

O lady fair 
With swan-like neck and golden hair. 

With eyes sky-blue 
And ruby lips of wine-like hue. 

Thy sweet young face 
Bears every mark of virgin grace. 

Thy lips apart 
Reveal what never could be made by art — 

A pearly row 
'Tween which the words of kindness flow. 

Thou angel born! 
As innocent as this pure morn. 

Thy sweet head's set 
Was made for this fair coronet. 

Let me, fair Queen, 
Adorn thy brow with this May-green ; 

And may thy fame 
Rest with thy heart, not with thy name. 



THE QUEEN'S RESPONSE 

This is my bliss, 
Just such an hour as this. 

This wreath of flowers, 

i6 



S^toeet 3futte 



Made from the sun and showers, 

Is grander far 
Than monarch's crown or star. 

Chaplets ne'er fade 
If they are planned and made 

By Love's own hand. 
The wear of time they'll stand, 

Not even death 
Can frost them with his breath. 

This blest May morn 
How Nature's green adorn? 

Our songs we raise 
To our Creator's praise ; 

Star, sun and sea 
Join in our symphony. 

All souls as one 
Blend in sweet unison 

To sing this day 
The gladsome birth of May. 



ODE TO THE SKY-LARK 

I 

Up, up, up, he goes ! 
Up from a world of woes. 

Bearing the sky upon his wings. 

Hark! how he sweetly sings, 
With his breast to the earth below. 

17 



S>toeet 3fune 



2 

Thou art no bird, but a wandering voice 
Singing of immortality — God's highest choice 

Of all ethereal bards. 
In song thou hast no equal mate; 
Thou feathery poet laureate. 

3 

Oft when I hear thy morning song. 

My thoughts are softly borne along 

From earth's retreat 
When thou art rising from the sod, 
Echoed — I hear the voice of God, 

From thy notes sweet. 

4 

Melodious songster of the air, 

Earth's not thy home, though green and fair— 

A resting place- 
To breathe awhile thy mortal breath. 
Then thou dost mount from sin and death 
With winging grace. 

5 
Great soul ! thou singest thoughts to me, 

Sublimer far than man's can be. 

From book or rote. 
God, love and immortality are all 
Like cloud-born dew drops when they fall 

From thy clear note. 

i8 



8)toeet 3fune 



6 

Soar on thou charmer of the spring, 
Aad let the deep blue kiss thy wing — 

Thou poet's pet. 
If stars could speak — ah, they would tell 
Of strains that thou hast sung so well 

Heard here, not yet. 

7 

A link thou art I can't define. 

Between the human and divine. 

Long wilt thou teach 
That man in all his shame and woe. 
Though fallen to sin's depths below, 

Great heights may reach. 

8 
Soon wilt thou turn to silent dust. 
Back to thy birthplace go thou must — 

Ethereal slave. 
Skies mock thee now, thou once didst prize, 
Kind mother earth thou didst despise, 

Is now thy grave. 

9 

O soul when thou hast nobly risen 

From thy cold, dark, and crumb'ling prison- 
Death is no more. 

But when thou fallest from the sky, 

Sprite of the air! it is to die — 
Thy flight is o'er. 

19 



S>toeet 3fune 



10 

God oft has used small things of love, 
To show man's greatness, and to prove 

His own divinity. 
In mortal flesh a soul's concealed 
Man's moral wrecks have oft revealed 

His grand nativity. 

II 

For every grief that salts our tears 
There is a joy which lights and cheers- 
Makes strong our trust. 
Though dark the depths of sin may be, 
There is a height where souls are free 
From shame and lust. 



BUBBA LOVE 

O Lord, I thank Thee for sending Bubba Love 
into my life. He has helped me to live better 
and love stronger since he has come. In him I 
see the man in the boy, the divine in the human. 
Spare his life, that he may grow to manhood, for 
I want to see how much a man he can be. May 
we be given grace to grow together. May he 
never be ashamed of me, may I never be ashamed 
of him. Help us both to be men, in every mean- 
ing of that term. In his sickness I have known. 
Thy solace, and felt the strength of Thy guiding 

20 



©toeet 3fune 



hand. Thou hast made the bitter sweet, and the 
burden Hght. The Httle leg that went to sleep 
awakened my soul, so that I am conscious of 
blessings which I never dreamed of possess- 
ing. God bless and keep my Bubba Love, and 
may there ever be as much man in the man, as I 
see now in the boy. Amen. 



I 

O BUBBA LOVE ! I often wish your troubles 

I could share, 
My heart is just a-breaking now, to see you lying 

there ; 
And where no eye can fall on me, I often quietly 

weep — 
I^m thinking of my dearest boy, whose little leg's 

asleep. 

II 

No more to play at hide-and-seek in this bright 
summer time; 

No more to run and romp and jump, the gar- 
den fence to dim' ; 

No more to ride on father's back, nor on your 
fours to creep — 

For in the cast of plaster is your little leg asleep. 

Ill 

And when the doctors came that morn, to bind 
that leg of thine, 

21 



Sioeet 3fune 



I wished at that time, Bubba Love, it just a-had 

been mine. 
O! I would freely suffer, for the joy to see you 

leap, 
And gladly give you mine, my boy, for your's 

that is asleep. 

IV 

So put away the hobby horse, the wagon, and the 

clothes ; 
And hide away the little shoes, worn out at heel 

and toes. 
His cap and belt and stockings, in some secret 

corner keep — 
For now he cannot wear them, while his little 

leg's asleep. 

V 

And when I see him lying there, with mist mine 

eyes get dim ; 
So then I bravely force a smile, and sit and play 

with him — 
For I must climb the hill of fate I find so hard 

and steep, 
And bear up nobly for the boy whose leg is now 

asleep 

VI 
When oft' I hear the other boys both shout and 

laugh and talk, 
I look not in their faces, but I just look at them 

walk; 

22 



Stpeet 3fune 



And then I get to thinking why my boy such 

pain should reap — 
I feel sort of rebellious, while his leg is now 

asleep. 

VII 

God ever reigns above me, and the Christ beside 

Him stands ; 
What fear I for the future when all things are 

in His hands ! 
He who feeds the meanest sparrow, will guard 

His lambs and sheep, 
And send the angels to my boy whose leg is now 

asleep. 

VIII 
The debt of love to mother, I'll ne'er cancel I 

allow. 
But through my darling Bubba I am paying it 

just now. 
His pains and aches, like lances keen, down in 

my heart cut deep — 
I'm suff'ring for my Bubba while his little leg's 

asleep. 

IX 
That little leg, God bless it ! it will make me yet 

a man. 
I know that He back yonder must have put it in 

His plan 
To keep my soul in patience, and the rubbish 

from me sweep: 

23 



S)toeet 3fune 



I feel that's what He's doing while my boy's leg 
is asleep. 

X 

A captured beam of sunlight sweet, he lies with- 
out a frown; 

I tell you, folks, I do believe that heaven has 
come down, 

For all around his Httle bed I see the cherubs 
peep, 

The rustle of their wings I hear, while Bubba's 
leg's asleep. 

XI 

If I ever get to heaven, 111 go by Bubba's stair — 
It's only through Christ in him I ever will get 

there. 
And God just dropped an angel down, upon this 

mundane heap, 
When He dropped down my Bubba Love, and 

put his leg to sleep. 

XII 
Go hide away the crutches now, and throw away 

the cast; 
Though dark the clouds of sorrow hang, they do 

not always last. 
O! I feel the burden rolling; with joy my heart 

does break; 
O ! don't you see me smiling now ? Thank God ! 

his leg's awake. 



24 



Stoeet 3fune 



REQUIEM 

I 

Lay me low ! lay me low ! 
Where the blue-eyed violets blow. 
Where the drooping willow weeps, 
And the rose so softly sleeps. 

2 

Let me dream ! let me dream ! 
Where the quiet, pellucid stream 
Flows a-crooning in its bed. 
Sweet my dreams be, though I'm dead. 

3 
Let me lie ! let me lie ! 

Where the winds go sighing by. 

As I feel their cooling breath 

I dream on, the dream of death. 

4 

Let me sleep ! let me sleep ! 

W^hile the loved ones o'er me weep. 
Sleeping on dear nature's breast 
With the things I loved the best. 

5 

Why weep ye ? why weep ye ? 

Where the grass waves over me. 
25 



@)toeet 3fune 



I know not your earthly sorrow, 
I dream of the golden morrow. 

6 
Tm awake! I'm awake! 
Now this earthen shell I break. 
Wakened from the sleep of death. 
Thrilling with the throb of breath. 

7 
Let me rise ! let me rise ! 
O my soul has wings — it flies 
From its prison in the earth 
Back to where it had its birth. 

8 
Do I die? Do I die? 
Like the sun, the star, and sky. 
Souls were made for spheres sublime- 
Scorners of the earth and time. 

9 
There's no dread! there's no dread! 

Though the shades enshroud my bed. 

Gives me life, the angel death 

In exchange for mortal breath. 



26 



S>toeet 3fune 



THE SONG OF THE LOOM 
With Apologies to Thomas Hood 

I 

Weary, languid and worn, 

On the verge of poverty's brink, 
A woman stood one summer's day 

Exhausted and ready to sink. 
And whilst the silver mercury rose 

To a hundred in her room, 
In the bitterest and saddest of womanly tones 

She sang "The Song of the Loom." 

2 
"Weave — weave — weave ! 

While the sweat drops from the head. 
Weave — weave — weave ! 

While the hands are stiff and dead. 
Weave — weave — weave ! 

While the feet are tired and sore. 
Weave — weave — weave ! 

Till I can weave no more. 

3 

"Weave — weave — weave ! 

While drunken husbands roam. 
Weave — weave — weave ! 

While children starve at home. 

27 



©toeet 3[une 



Misery, sickness, death, 

Poverty, sorrow, crime, 
And who can keep these wolves from the door 

In this soul-selHng time? 

4 
"Weave — weave — weave ! 

With scarcely a breath to draw. 
When work is done, at the setting sun, 

To go home to a bed of straw. 
I scarce can get the bread 

Myself and children to keep. 
Alas! that dollars should be so dear, ■ 

And human blood so cheap. 

5 
''Weave — weave — weave ! 

While motherless babies cry. 
Weave — weave — weave ! 

While widows and orphans sigh 
For the fields rich brown, away from town 

The meadows green and fair. 
For a scent of the flowers, in the after showers. 

And a breath of the country air. 

6 
*'Weave — weave — weave ! 

While the wheels of fortune turn 
Weave — weave — weave ! 

While fools have money to burn. 
While deep in the muck, of the gambler's luck, 
Staking all his green-back roll. 

28 



@)toeet 3fune 



At home is the wife, wearing out her life, 
And grinding her weary soul. 

7 
''Weave — weave — weave ! 

From early morn till night, 
Till my back is sore, with bending o'er, 

Till my lips are parched and white. 
A countless number of times I fix 

The weary shuttle and thread, 
Till my heart is sick, my brain is dull 

And my limbs are numb and dead. 

8 
"Weave — weave — weave ! 

Till my eyes are dim and red. 
Weave — weave — weave ! 

Till my arms are lumps of lead. 
Shuttle and thread, and beam, 

Beam and shuttle and thread, 
Till my soul breaks from its mortal chain, 

And the grave's my welcome bed. 

9 

''Weave — weave — weave ! 

While the wealthy waste and spend. 

Weave — weave — weave ! 

While others have gold to lend. 

But I must work, like a galley Turk, 
For a pittance again, and again. 

While the Corporate Beast, on dividends feast- 
Making machines of men. 

29 



@»toeet 3fune 



10 

"Weary, languid and worn 

On the verge of poverty's brink, 
A w^oman stood one summer day 

Exhausted and ready to sink. 
And v^hilst the silver mercury rose 

To a hundred in her room, 
In the bitterest and saddest of womanly tones 
(Would that the rich might hear her moans) 

She sang the 'Song of the Loom.' " 



BURLESQUE ON THE GOLDEN CALF 



The ravages of dire disease still makes the old 

world sad. 
But there's one that folks are wanting, it's the 

one called "money mad." 
If you ain't inoculated, you are simply not the 

"thing," 
For a fellow's friends are legion while the 

mighty dollars ring. 

2 

As soon as people find it out, you haven't got the 

gold, 
They will cut you, they will snub you, they will 

treat you rather cold. 

30 



©toeet 3fune 



With an empty purse and pocket, you can feel 

their social sting. 
For a fellow's friends are legion while the mighty 

dollars ring. 

3 

So every one's a stretching out to knock the 

golden fruit, 
It matters not if you're a man, or just a biped 

brute. 
If you stand well with your banker, you can still 

keep on the wing. 
For a fellow's friends are legion while the 

mighty dollars ring. 

4 

You must some how get the money, get it any- 
way you can. 

"What matters if it's tainted, it's the measure of 
the man. 

It's the only genuine passport into the social 
"swing," 

For a fellow's friends are legion while the 
mighty dollars ring. 

5 
Life seems to be smooth sailing, as long as lasts 

the "salt." 
If the Bible is your bank book, and your god is 

in the vault, 
.You can play the very devil, still the throng your 

plaudits sing. 

31 



©toeet 3fune 



A fellow hasn't any faults while mighty dollars 
ring. 

6 

To man you are an idol, if he knows you hold 

the sack. 
He will cross the street to greet you, he will slap 

you on the back. 
He will break his neck to please you, and at you 

bouquets fling. 
You are bully fellow while the mighty dollars 

ring. 

7 
The hostess, she will greet you, and aloud your 

praises sound. 
And on a silver waiter she will hand you all 

around. 
For you are just the kind of fish the mammas 

want to "string." 
Yes, the girlies go man-baiting, while the mighty 

dollars ring. 

8 

Down like a cloud of locusts, sweep your most 

devoted kin. 
As soon as they discover you have fallen heir to 

"tin." 
They will wine you, they will dine you, to your 

conversation cling. 
Yes, a fellow's kin are legion while the mighty 

dollars ring. 

32 



©toeet 3fune 



9 
Oh, what if you can clearly trace your lineage 

to the "Flood." 
The morals of the man don't count, nor quality 

of blood. 
You are not to-day's aristocrat, if you lack the 

yellow "thing/' 
For a fellow's blood is bluest, while the mighty 

dollars ring. 

10 

Man's only freedom's when he lives above the 
grasp of greed. 

He may have little here below, and yet be rich 
indeed. 

Though he be poor, and live obscure, from hum- 
ble parents spring. 

Yet he can stan' and be a man, while mighty 
dollars ring. 



LET'S GO ON 

I 

Heavy though may be the load, 

Let's go on. 
What if thorns grow on the road ? 

Let's go on. 
After night soon dawns the day, 
'Round the cloud's a silver ray. 

33 



S>toeet 3[une 



Sun and flowers will come in May. 
Let's go on. 

2 

Though we have our ups and downs, 

Let's go on. 
Never mind the scoffs and frowns, 

Let's go on. 
Trouble's ghosts, though strong and tall, 
Brave them though the heavens fall ; 
We can face and fight them all. 

Let's go on. 

3 

We are here to do the right, 

Let's go on. 
Though it often means a fight. 

Let's go on. 
Blood is nothing as to cost. 
When it flows for truth at most, 
All is lost when honor's lost. 

Let's go on. 

4 
Now's the time to dare and do. 

Let's go on. 
Man's no man, if he's untrue. 

Let's go on. 
In thy valor youth arise ! 
Grasp with all thy might the prize. 
He who wins, is he who tries. 

Let's go on. 

34 



©toeet 3fune 



5 
Some poor fellow needs a hand 

Let's go on. 
We can lift him, help him stand 

Let's go on. 
Speak to him a word of cheer, 
Whisper comfort in his ear, 
Make him smile and dry his tear. 

Let's go on. 



6 

We'll be true unto the last, 

Let's go on. 
Bitter blows the battle's blast. 

Let's go on. 
With a courage strong we'll go 
To the breast-works of the foe, 
And we'll give him blow for blow. 

Let's go on. 



7 

We will fear not trouble's rod, 

Let's go on. 
If we fear, we'll fear our God, 

Let's go on. 
From the furnace comes pure gold, 
Spring buds after winter's cold. 
Men get mellow when they're old. 

Let's go on. 



35 



Stoeet 3fune 



8 
Our dark passions we'll subdue. 

Let's go on. 
Life is naught, if it's not true. 

Let's go on. 
Make of self a stepping stone, 
On it climb the heights alone, 
Though with many a wound and groan. 

Let's go on. 



9 

"Hitch your wagon to a star," 

Let's go on. 
Though it twinkles from afar. 

Let's go on. 
Keep your eye upon its gleams, 
And mount upward on its beams, 
In the star there shine our dreams. 

Let's go on. 



10 

Souls were never made to die, 

Let's go on. 
Hearts are beating 'yond the sky; 

Let's go on. 
Gives me life the angel death, 
In exchange for mortal breath. 
"Fm the Life," the Saviour saith. 

Let's go on. 



36 



©toeet 31une 



ODE TO THE MOUNT 

I 

sovran Mount! thou hast a charm alone 
For mortals touched with true poetic fire, 
A charm that's indefinable, I own 

That lifts our spirits higher. 

2 

1 know not where it lies, at head or base; 
Above thy silent seas of virgin snow. 

Or at thy feet where foaming waters chase 
Each other in their flow. 

3 

I know it's there — I feel it in my soul 

The touch invisible — as I climb hence 
Thy smoky ridges to thy ice-capped goal. 
I hear thy eloquence. 

4 
The upland sights I see, and sounds I hear 
Are foreign to the symphonies of earth. 
O Music's Mount ! thou hast not seen man's tear. 
Nor heard his song of mirth. 

5 
Yet worship's glorious in thy crystal shrine; 

Enrapt, transfused, transfigured I stand there. 

37 



@)toeet 3Iune 



God-filled Mount ! 'midst atmosphere divine 

I kneel entranced in prayer. 

6 

1 see thy beauteous peak thro' cloudland's rift, 
Pierce the pale sky with a consummate grace; 
And to the silent heavens thou dost hft 

Thy white and shining face. 

7 

O, Mount of Freedom, raise your voice and 

speak, 
And ring your message thro' the tingling air — 
**Come, mortals, all within my bosom seek 
The cure for fret and care." 

8 

And when the white-winged day to rest has 

flown 
Fades from thy brow the sunset's crimson bars; 
Then thro' the solemn night thou dost alone 
Commune with troops of stars. 

9 

The smile of dawn thou art the first to greet, 

And o'er thy face she throws her golden veil, 

While Nature's sweetly sleeping at thy feet, 

And mist-wrapped is the vale. 

lO 

Yet barb'rous thou wilt be unto the last, 
Nature's chaste touch can never make thee mild ; 

38 



©toeet 3fune 



Not all the ages of the glorious past, 

Have tamed thy spirit wild. 

II 

O mother of the avalanche and pine ! 

Where light'nings 'round thy head have played 

and torn 
Out from thy fertile womb— O Mount divine — 
The baby streams were born. 

12 

O Temple Mount ! let me with holy fear 

Kneel reverently within thy sacred shrine, 

On these throned heights, I know that God is 

here, — 

Omnipotent, Divine. 



CENTENARY ODE TO LINCOLN 
1809 — 1909 

I 

Hail son of liberty! 

Rests green the laurel on thy noble brow. 

O Abraham of our land! 

Thy righteous cause will stand. 
Thy glory shines upon all nations now. 



39 



@)toeet 3[une 



2 

A hundred years have gone 

Since winged thy soul from heaven to the earth. 

O bless the natal day ! 

When thy spark glowed in clay. 
And stars and angels sung thy mortal birth. 

3 

A cabin thy first home — 

Within its log-ribbed walls thy spirit came. 

O brother of the soil! 

Thou son of want and toil. 
With gleaming ax did'st hew thy way to fame. 

4 
An empire was thy brain — 

But thy great heart was tender, strong and 

right. 

With patriotic zeal; 

Thou mad'st thy country feel 
That shackled millions were a shameful sight. 

5 
Sent by the God of love — 
At the right time, to act a God-like part. 

To make the weakling strong; 

To right the monstrous wrong. 
And cause the truth to burn within the heart. 

6 

O men it was to be — 

That war should come and leave its gory train. 

40 



Stoeet 3[utte 



Sad, sad it was, but true; 
That soon our fathers knew. 
That nought but human blood could cleanse the 
stain. 

7 
Strong man! yet simple child — 

Who felt the Father's hand in every day. 

Thou, to the great white Throne ; 

Didst breathe thy prayer alone. 
And on thy knees beheld the lighted way. 

8 

As like a giant cliff — 

That mocks the sharpened tooth of ocean's 
Wave. 

So thy tall, rugged form 
Arose above the storm. 
Smiled in the face of death and made men 
brave. 

9 
Hail, son of liberty ! 

Who soothed a nation's wounds and calmed its 

fears, 

Now all the sons of men; 

Proclaim again — again 
That greater thou dost grow with passing years. 

10 

Ah! thou did'st die in time — 

If there^s a time elect in which to die. 

41 



©toeet 3fiine 



Deep in the battle's flood ; 
There poured thy martyr-blood. 
Now with thy soldier-children thou dost lie. 

II 

Within Columbia's breast — 

All rankling hate and passion are at rest. 

Our hopes and joys increase ; 

*'01d Glory" waves in peace. 
Thank God! No North, no South, no East, no 
West. 



THE OULEOUT IN JUNE. 

Sweet ouleout! thy beauty charms 

The soul of one who has the eye. 

The true deep sense of poesy. 

'Tis a delight to see thee now 

Sleep on and dream among the grass 

And flowers, soft-breathing in the sun; 

Kissed by its beams of fire and gold. 

Ouleout ! in thy pure face 

1 see fairest of June-blue skies — 
Fleece-clouds from Nature's finest loom- 
A livery fit for gods to' wear. 

And, when the twilight, gray and still. 
Greets the faint blush of fading day, 
I see all twinkling, glittering there 
The diamond stars upon thy breast 

42 



S)toeet 3fune 



And, as they breathe their vesper hymns — 

All turn to dreams within my soul. 

O Song-delight to thee and me ! 

Sweet Ouleout — my earth-born heaven! 

Prized gem of Nature, pure, serene ; 

Much would I give to know thy thoughts- 

Thy speech primeval, and thy dreams — 

How I would love to make them all 

My own, and in thy innocence 

Live as becometh Nature's child. 

Sweet Baby-stream so beauteous ! 

So simple and so innocent, 

Alas ! too soon, lost wilt thou be 

In the dark river's restless breast. 

But pray, loved Ouleout, sing on! 

Thy song of sun-bathed hills, and dales. 

Of blowing flowers, and piping birds, 

Or drowsy clouds, and dreaming stars. 

When in the dark, strange, swirling depths 

Sing on ! as thou art whisp'ring now 

Thy music through the emerald way. 



THE NATIVITY 
I 
There's a Star in the East to-night, 

And it sings through the hallowed air; 
Of all the trembling stars in sight, 
It's the brightest that I see there. 
It smiles with its silvery eyes to me 

43 



^\jotct 31une 



Through the night till the rosy morn. 
And it shines from above, this message of love, 
'The Christ the Lord is born.'' 

2 

Strange music I'm hearing to-night, 

O my soul it deeply thrills ! 
Throbs the air with the song-delight ; 

Till the earth with heaven it fills, 
And wave on wave of its melody. 

Sweeps on through the night till morn. 
Spheres distant sing, of the birth of the King, 

The Christ the Lord is born. 

3 
There are angels around to-night; 

In white-tlaming circles swing 
To the earth from the Gates of Light. 

And the dream-world wakes as they sing, 
"All glory to God in the highest," 

Through the night till the golden morn. 
I know by the strain, of their grand refrain 

The Christ the Lord is born. 

4 
There's a Babe and a mother to-night, 

And she folds llim to her breast; 
She kisses His soft cheek white, 

And hushes Him sweetly to rest, 
Sheds the Star new glory on His head, 
Smile the angels on the morn, 
Holds Mary at last, the Love-Gift fast, 
The Ciirist the Lord is born. 

44 



%\x}ttt 3fune 



ODE TO STEPHEN COLLINS FOSTER 
Author of ''My Old Kentucky Home'' 

I 

Hail, singer to the common heart! 
Hail to thy great soul-stirring art ! 
Thy melodies make tear-drops start 

From many an eye. 
Simplicity — soul of thine art, 

Can never die. 

2 

Who gave thee power to charm the throng 
And bid our carking cares go 'long? 
Who made thy notes both sweet and strong 

And men take heart? 
God breathed in thee thy soul-born song 

And 'spired thine art. 

3 

Your scores have not great Handel's ring; 

No Mozart's sweep, Wagnerian swing, 
Than Kubelik with bow and string; 

Or classic thrill. 
Thy dear old songs which millions sing, 

Are sweeter still. 

4 

Whate'er the place, where'er we roam. 

In pauper's hut, 'neath palace dome; 

45 



%\x>ttt 3fune 



On mountain's height, or ocean's foam, 

In this old ball, 
It is the themes of love and home. 

That touch us all. 

5 

O King- of Song, thou rul'st alone! 

Song lovers many, 'neath the sun, 

Thy rhythmic scales their heart-strings thrum- 
Dots, spaces, line. 

Surely thou reignest on thy throne 
By right divine ! 

6 

Like frosted leaf we fade away; 
Death brings an end to our brief day — • 
But thou wilt live in song for aye — 

Just tribute due, 
Though hidden all thy mortal clay 

From human view. 

7 
O grave, there's naught within thy fold 
But silent dust, and with'ring mold, 
The cank'ring worm, and clammy cold; 

Make home with thee. 
But thou hast not, though cycles old, 

A song for me. 

8 
Upon thy noble classic brow 
The wreath of glory crowns it now. 

46 



^toeet 3fune 



No sweeter singer, this I trow, 
Of race or name, 

Has left with mortals high or low 
A greater fame. 



THE POT-HOUSE POLITICIAN. 

I 

Old Kentucky is the center of the world's fair 

garden spot. 
Dear Nature put fine finishing upon her Blue 

Grass plot. 
But the stain upon her honor, and the blackest 

of her flaws 
Is the breed of men that she has raised to 

frame and pass her laws. 
O the folks in Old Kentucky soon a Paradise 

would found 
If her pot-house politicians were a sleeping 

underground. 

2 

O it's awful when you think that men like cattle 
can be sold; 

It's getting now that they will do most any- 
thing for gold. 

Men will auction off their conscience, they will 
sell their very blood; 

And for the filthy lucre they will wallow in the 
mud. ' 

47 



©toeet 3[une 



O the folks in Old Kentucky soon a Paradise 

would found 
If her pot-house politicians were a wallowing- 

underground. 

3 
Some men can talk of liberty and never feel its 

flame, 
And patriotism is to some a dead and empty 

name; 
We can breathe the air of freedom, and be a 

skulking slave, 
Face the cannon-mouth and musket, and yet fill 

a coward's grave. 
O the folks in Old Kentucky soon a Paradise 

would found 
If her pot-house politicians were a canting 

underground. 

4 

You tell me that the sight of war would make 
the blood congeal, 

Where brother murders brother-man, with bullet 
and cold steel. 

Worse murders at the polls are rife, where 
souls they buy and sell ; 

Yes ! down in Old Kaintuck you'll find that poli- 
tics is hell. 

O the folks in Old Kentucky soon a Paradise 
would found 

If her pot-house politicians were a burning 
underground. 

48 



S>toeet 3fune 



5 
The lust men have for politics is the burning 

lust for pelf; 
It's not the golden rule that works, it is the 

rule of self. 
It's coercion and the dollar that puts legislation 

through, 
And paying to Boss Peter for the votes he 

bought for you. 
O the folks in Old Kentucky soon a Paradise 

would found 
If her pot-house politicians were a lobbying 

underground. 

6 
So do the least of service, but get all the graft 

you can, 
And watch your opportunity to knife the other 

man; 
O guard with care the party tree, for the fall 

of office fruit; 
For the pulling of the wire is but the pulling 

of the brute. 
O the folks in Old Kentucky soon a Paradise 

would found 
If her pot-house politicians were a wiring 

underground. 

7 
No obstacle can stay his way, the measure must 

go through ; 
I£ it suits his better purpose he will cut the vote 

in two. 



49 



©toeet 3Iune 



The ballot he makes large or small, he's done 

it time again ; 
With a bottle of fire-water he will buy the votes 

of men. 
O the folks in Old Kentucky soon a Paradise 

would found 
If her pot-house politicians were a stealing 

underground. 

8 

Though strong may be his cuss'ed greed, he 
can't satisfy it all. 

The pie won't last forever, his pride must have 
a fall. 

From his throne of power unseated, sad, un- 
honored is his end. 

Then the party goes to mourning, and his ob- 
sequies attend. 

O the folks in Old Kentucky soon a Paradise 
would found 

If her pot-house politicians were a mourning 
underground. 

9 
So down in Pandemonium, of its spoils he'll 

have a share. 
Soon he'll hold a secret caucus, he will run for 

office there. 
And if the devil ever tries of the graft-pot to 

get rid, 
The pot-house politician will be knocking off 

the lid. 

50 



@»toeet 31utie 



O the folks in Old Kentucky soon a Paradise 

would found 
If her pot-house politicians were a grafting 



underground. 



LIFE 



I 

Life is too short — to waste our precious min- 
utes one by one 
In silly vaunting of our high-born powers; 
Too short for aught but daily duty nobly done, 
Pure thoughts, kind deeds should fill our 
passing hours. 

2 

Life is too short — to nurse our spite, of discord 
sow the seed 
In men, or look with envious eyes on other's 

pelf; 
Too short to cultivate the selfishness of self. 
Or feed upon the dust-dried fruit of greed. 

3 
Life is too short — to compromise with wrong 

or jest with sin; 

To bring the standard of our ideal down. 

Life's short enough to fight our fight and win, 

To bear our cross, and gain the victor's 

crown. 

51 



©toeet 3[une 



4 
Life is too short — then murmur not when duty 

comes to thee 
And puts her yoke of care upon thy heart ; 
She brings her salve to make thy soul-eyes see 
That of God's plan thou art a destined part. 

5 
Life is too short — then learn by faith to live 

life's little day, 
In trust serene, and sweet content — repose. 
To thy to-day bring not the trials of yesterday, 
And leave to-morrow's cares with Him who 

knows. 

6 
Life is too short — then bear your burden well, 
and fight your fight. 
Meet disappointment with unfaltering mien, 
And trust in God to lead you in the right. 

The fight we dread is oft unfought — unseen. 

7 
Life is too short — then love the truth that knows 
not how to die, 
And on it build thy soul — God-breathed — 
God-given. 
Build slow, build well, build true, build high. 
Build up to God, and you shall never die. 



52 



Stoeet 3fune 



8 
Life is too short — then stand on virtue's side — 
this is the end 
For which God made us all — a clean, white 
soul, 
Whom lust dare not insinuate, that it would 
bend 
To things debasing, spoken or untold. 

9 
Life is too short — then never say "I can't" to 
aught that's in your way. 
But may the voice of patience say "Be still." 
Whatever duties meet thee day by day 

Ne'er say **I ought," but always say "I zmll/' 

10 

Life is too short — then live it well, that you 
may live again 

The higher, purer, nobler life above. 
Be brave, be pure, be true ; a man of men — 

Incarnate faith — a paragon of love. 

II 

Life is too short — but not too short, ah ! not 
too short for love. 

For love lives on forever and forever. 
Her cross is here, her shining crown — above. 

Can love e'er die? Oh, never — never. 

Life is too short — but love is ever — ever. 



53 



%)Wttt 3fune 



A LIFE-PRAYER 

O Lord, I thank Thee for Hfe, and for the 
privilege of Hving it, for faith to strengthen it, 
hope to brighten it, love to sweeten it, and truth 
to enlighten it. May the duty of each day be 
performed faithfully, responsibility met bravely, 
opportunity embraced heartily ; and while I 
must not wish for sorrow, yet when it comes, 
help me, O Lord, to find Thy sweet portion in 
it and in its darkness may I ever look for the 
glints of Thy welcome sunshine. To everything 
which in Thy wisdom Thou dost send to my 
life, may I be able to say with sincerity, *'Thy 
w^ill be done." Give me the grace to be cour- 
ageous in danger, patient in suffering, pure in 
thought, kind in deed, and true in friendship. 
Make me unswerving in my progress towards 
my ideal ; may I disdain to lower it, even though 
I think it impossible to attain it ; for remind me. 
Lord, that I can never grow enough, and above 
all give me a clean heart, for a clean heart mak- 
eth a pure life, and a pure life only can enter 
a pure heaven. May I ever see and find the 
best in my fellows, and as for their faults and 
failings may I ever throw around them all the 
sweet mantle of charity, knowing that with all 
the dross around me the pure gold must lie 
somewhere. Help me, O Lord, to find that 

54 



S)toeet 3func 



"Sweet Somewhere," and may the greatest 
proof that I love Thee be found in my sincere 
and unselfish love for my brother-man. And 
when my weary soul weighs anchor, and the 
last load of life's freight has been placed aboard, 
cut softly and tenderly, O Lord, this earthly 
cable that binds me to the shore of time, and 
assure me a safe voyage across the "bar," and 
I shall count all the pains and penalties of this 
mortal life a privilege to bear, when knowing 
at last I shall hear the "well done" from my 
heavenly Pilot. — Amen. 



TO MUSIC 
I 

Her soft white hand runs o'er the magic strings, 
And from them vibrate chords so sweet and 
low. 
Like April violets when the spring-wind brings 

Their perfume to my heart of care and woe. 
So thy notes fragrant fall upon mine ear 
And fill my soul with gladdening hope and 
cheer. 



O rapt'rous power, thou messenger of peace! 
That soothes and binds up many a heart-made 
wound. 

55 



@)toeet 3fune 



Our bitter sorrows find in thee release, 

And in thy symphonies are deeply drowned. 
And Nature's voices all, around — above. 
Whisper in unison that *'Thou art Love." 

3 

Steep with thy heaven-born dew this thirsty 

soul, 

Give me thy balm that others often feel. 
May all my cares be in thy chaste control. 

Before thy altar let me ever kneel. 
Pine I for thee as lovers oft before, 
To have thee all, I'd wish that thou wert more. 

4 
O thou dost waft us from all dying things, 

Bear on our souls upon thy swift- winged note. 
Thou to the heights thy slaves of sound dost 
bring. 
Where thy soul-harmonies forever float. 
But time cuts off from us thy sweet refrain, 
Then must we walk life's weary way again. 

5 
O Queen of Sound, thy voice, thy touch divine 

Grows richer, softer with each passing year. 
(Yet 'tis a note — a melodious half-line, 

I hear from thee in this decaying sphere. 
When thy half-notes enthrall this mortal throng, 
What must it be to hear thy perfect song? 



56 



©toeet 3Iune 



EVOLUTION 

I 

From the tiny seed 

A flower. 
From the floating cloud 

A shower. 

2 

From the morning sky 

A lark. 
From the glowing fire 

A spark. 

From the heart s desire 

A prayer. 
From the hero's lips 

A dare. 

4 
From the sovereign will 

An act. 
From eternal truth 

A fact. 

5 
From the saddened heart 

A pain. 

57 



©toeet 3fune 



From the Christian's loss 
A gain. 

6 

From the well-run race 

A goal. 
From the dying dust 

A soul. 



TO A PRIMROSE 

I 

Sweet flower! why art thou weeping there 

Why — never glad ? 
When all the baby-flowers are fair, 

Why art thou sad? 

2 

I see within thy petalled lips 

A pearl lie, 
Or is't a tear that gently slips 

From out your eye? 

3 

Why to your sobbing sadness yield? 

Your face scarce seen 
To thy companions of the field — 
So fresh and green. 

58 



©toeet 3fune 



4 
Thou hast not felt the bitter wind 

In thy brief hour, 
Nor frost that leaves death's mark behind 

On many a flower. 

5 
O why is it thou canst not keep 

Joy for a day? 

'Tis passing strange that thou shouldst weep 

Thy life away. 

6 

Speak, little flower, with thy sweet breath, 

And tell me so. 
Just why you grieve yourself to death — 

I want to know. 

7 
O dost thou know of love subhme? 

Its pain discover? 
And hadst thou once upon a time 

A fickle lover? 

8 

Speak, wimp'ring primrose, and make known 

The reason why. 
Thou hast in all these spring-hours blown 

Grief's lullaby? 



59 



©toeet 31une 



9. 
Has violet blue ne'er raised his head 

Thee to caress? 
Or art thou suffering from that dread- 
Love's vv^ake fulness? 

lO 

Come! v^eep no more, for I can tell 

By your sad eyes. 
You love, dear primrose, love too v^rell- 

I fear not wise. 

II 

Thy sorrow sweet is also mine 
Our sufferings prove. 

That to be loved is not divine — 
It is to love. 

12 

Lift up your drooping head once more, 

The sunlight greet. 
Though thy love-wounded heart is sore, 

The pain is sweet. 

13 

And pray remember every hour. 

In shine and rain, 
That you are not the only flower 

That loved in vain. 



60 



Stoeet 31une 



BOOK I, ODE 9, HORACE 

Translation 

Oh, Thaliarchus, see'st thou how 

The deep snow whitens old Socrates' brow? 

The trees their weight of ice can scarce sus- 
tain, 

And the deep rivers groan, bound by a frozen 
chain. 
Dissolve the cold, throw wood upon the hearth 

And cheerfully bring forth the Sabine wine; 
Oh, Thaliarchus, yield thy soul to mirth. 

And leave all carking cares to Jove divine, 
Who, when the wind fights with the fervid 
waves. 

Can still their raging by a single word. 
So that the cypress, nor the elm tree's leaves 

E'en by a single zephyr shall be stirred. 
"What care to-morrow brings forget, forget 

The present pleasure, count it as thy gain 
Do not despise the gentle loves, nor yet 

The dance while peevish age far off remains. 
And now the fields and open squares are sought 

By gentle whispers at the appointed hour, 
And the wild girls' betraying laugh is brought 

From the dark corner of some ancient tower. 
The pledge is snatched, the bracelet, ring or 

chain. 
While the pleased girls a slight resistance feign. 

6i 



Stoeet 3[une 



TO 



I 

I cannot tell you why I love you now; 

Or why my heart swells to my mouth and 
eyes. 

When oft I think upon that night's surprise. 
I cannot tell you why I made that vow; 

To love you ever with my heart and mind. 

'Tis a mystery that thought can never find. 

2 

Can I say more, "I love you"? for I feel 
The once still waters of my soul stirred up. 

Their overflow my eyes cannot conceal. 
The sweetening thou art, in my life's cup. 

My thoughts are purer, and new things I see; 

The world looks now so different to me. 

3 

Can I say more, 'T love you"? for I vow 

Within this breast a fire is burning now. 
Oft did I try to quench it, but in vain, 
For when I thought it dead, it blazed again. 

Strange fire it is, that sets my heart aglow; 

That Cupid must have kindled it, I know. 

4 
Fm happy now, but why I cannot tell. 

I love, I know, I love perhaps too well. 

62 



©toeet 3tune 



O precious cup, a pleasant taste it is; 

Drink I untired of its contents of bliss. 
And all the world seems now so good and kind, 
Of joy unfeigned — O what more can I find? 

5 
"I love you," what more then can I say? 
My joy within increases every day. 

And thy soul's currents mingle now with 

mine, 
Making Hfe purer, nobler, more divine. 
Blood in my veins, so is thy love to me, 
This life was nothing, till I met with thee. 



SIN 

I 

A power I feel within, 

Let men call it what they will. 
It never can bode good to me, 

But only what is ill. 

2 

In body, mind and soul 

Dark, deep ruin it has wrought. 
It can stunt my finer feeling. 

And curb my purer thought. 

3 . 

Yes, call it what I will. 
If left to have its sway, 

63 



©toeet 3fune 



It will drag me through the deepest mire 
And damn my soul away. 

4 

The cup of honor — shame, 

Yes, man can either fill ; 
His heaven or hell upon the earth 

He forges with his will. 



A WOMAN'S HEART 

She fain would linger when she runs away, 
And boldly speak when silence holds her lips ; 

Her wish's to have you near when you're away, 
And let repose the hand that from yours 
slips. 

2 

She feels the deepest when she jests with you, 
And tenderest oft when frowns contract her 
brow. 

She never says, ''I never can love you," 
Until too fearful that she loves you now. 

3 

A kiss to give her, ah she wants it not; 

Then wonders why you never dared to do. 
The one attempted is the one she sought; 

The one denied you, she would give to you. 

64 



^toeet 3[utte 



4 
Judge not by what she does, but does not da. 

In Cupid's game she plays a skilful side. 
The prize of love's not won by one — but two; 

It's man's to seek, a woman's art to hide. 



GROWTH 

I 

O joyous bursting of bud ! 

With the life that throbs at the root; 
Up and away from the earth, 

To the sweet and sap of the fruit. 

2 

O nobler growth of the man! 

From the foul base brute within; 
Slave of the flesh no more — 

Master of passion and sin. 

3 

Grow in the service of love ! 

Away from the venom of hate; 
Allured by the call of the good, 

To the heights of the pure and the great, 

4 
Lord help me to grow always — 

Grow 'neath the cross and the rod. 
Hourly and daily to feel 

The thrill and throb of my God. 

6s 



S>toeet 3[une 



THE LOSS OF H. M. S. VICTORIA 

I 

A gallant ship was she 

Which bore the good Queen's name; 
One braver there could not be 

That rode the roaring main. 

2 

The sun that fatal day 

Climbed half the sky's blue steep; 
On the bosom of the bay 

The wind had gone to sleep. 

3 

Leviathans there lay 

In line for grand review; 
From every staff astern 
The Union Jack it flew. 

4 

A rip — a rush — a roar! 

"The Victoria's going down" — 
Down with the boys of blue ! — 

Rammed by the Camperdown. 

5 
Into her wounded side, 

Through that deep, gaping gash, 

66 



©toeet 3fune 



Surges the savage tide, 
Filling that awful crash. 

6 

How toiled the dauntless brave, 
With fleetest foot and hand, 

To bring their shattered ship 
On to the Syrian land! 

7 
"Too late!" arose the call— 

The men are dying and dead — 

"Swim for your lives, swim all,^' 

The admiral's signal read. 

8 
The shouts of the drowning men 

Are stilled by the angry wave; 
From the waters again and again 

Arose the call of the brave. 

9 
The bodies, battered and bare. 

Are swallowed up by the flood; 

And torn limbs mangled there. 

Float on in a sea of blood. 

10. 

Till death I'll remember the rip! 

The tear and the twist of steel, 
Her quiver — and awful slip 

Her plunge — and her fearful keel. 

67 



S>toeet 3[une 



II. 

Sir George stands on the bridge — 
A hero with every breath — 

Stands, till duty is done, 
Waits for the call of death. 

12. 

The coxswain cried, "Come ! Go ! 

There is safety yet in sight;" 
But he answered calmly, "No, 

I'll sleep with my ship to-night." 

13 
And as she went rolling o'er. 

Sucked down by the sea's strong swell, 

He raised his hand to the shore 

And waved a sad farewell. 

14- 
Into her sinking side 

Sings the sea its solemn song; 
Down goes the Victoria, 

With full three hundred strong. 

Down like a crash of thunder, 

Down to the dark sea cave, 
With her side torn far asunder. 

She has gone with the British brave. 

16 

No more will the gale she meet; 
No more on the wave will rise — 

68 



S>toeet 3futte 



She, with her crew complete, 
In eighty fathoms lies. 

17 
Down went the Victoria, 

Far off from the Syrian shore; 
Sir George and all his noble crew, 

Shall sail the seas no more. 



IN MEMORIAM 

OF 

MRS. JOHN DARNALL 

I 

God knows how she loved, with all her heart, 
As only a woman can. 
To mother the mothers 
And children of others, 
Was the whole of her loving plan. 
In the day and night 
Never from her sight 
Were the motherless here below. 
She loved with a love that was stronger than 
death. 
And God and the angels know. 

2 

You may say that a woman is simply human. 
And made of the common clay — 

69 



©toeet June 



With her roguish smiles, 

Mysterious wiles, 
And her wondrous, puzzling way. 

But I tell it to you, 

And you know it is true, 
That we mortals here below 
Without her would be but the imps of hell, 
And God and the angels know. 

3 
Oh, she worked and loved with all her power, 
And planned with her head and hand — 
Hands so beautiful. 
Loving, dutiful, 
Moved by the woman — grand. 
And her very heart's blood. 
Poured out as a flood 
To the needy here below. 
We are poorer to-day than ever before. 
And God and the angels know. 

4 

I will bless to my death the happy day 
When I met this woman fine. 
'Twas her loving deed. 
Not musty creed. 
That made her human — divine. 
And lifted her eyes. 
To her hope in the skies. 
From the vain things here below. 
I have greater faith in the good since she came. 
And God and the angels know. 

70 



Stoeet 3[une 



5 
Oh, love made the scars I have seen on her 
hands, 
And the tears that marked her face; 
But the love-made scar. 
Was beautiful far, 
Than all of her womanly grace. 
And day after day. 
Her heart wore away. 
For the motherless here below. 
Oh, a love both tender and strong was hers! 
And God and the angels know. 

6 

And many a time I have heard her croon, 
In the softest undertone, 

A nursery song, 

Both sweet and long. 
To the children not her own. 

How she loved them still! 

To her dear heart's fill. 
Besides others here below. 
What love of a mother for more than her own! 
Only God and the angels know. 

7 
Now she's gone away to the Always Day, 
Where the mothers have no care; 
Yet I wonder why 
God let her die. 
For such mothers are hard to spare. 
And I think she hears, 

71 



©toeet 3fune 



'Yond this vale of tears, 
The children's call below. 
Oh, the mother of mothers has gone away! 
And God and the angels know. 

Flemingsburg, Kentucky. 



DYING SUMMER 

I. 

The summer is dying, what poet is glad? 
The leaves are reddening, and I am sad. 
A memory sweet will the song be again — 
The song of the thrush in the after-rain. 

2 

The summer is passing, ah, soon, too soon 
Will the brooklet and bird give up their tune. 
And the hill-tops rest in a veil of haze. 
With the lengthening nights and the short'ning 
days. 

3 
The roads are dusty, and the fields are brown, 
In the cool, clear night, comes the hoar frost 

down. 
With the short'ning day, and the lengthening 

night. 
Falls the earth asleep 'neath the flakes of white. 

72 



@)toeet June 



4 

The summer is dying, what poet is glad? 
The leaves are falling and I am sad. 
A memory sweet, will the song be again — 
The song of the bees, and the warm June rain. 



SCOTCH DIALECT VERSE 



MY FAITHER 

I 

My faither's gettin' auld and gray; 

His hair is white, like driven snaw; 
And mony a wrinkle marks his broo; 

His teeth are maist awa! 

2 

He disna laugh sae herty noo, 
For he is frail and wearin' din. 

His cheeks are no sae fu' some noo, 
For they have sunken in. 

3 
How lank and feeble is his han', 

That once wrought verra hard for me; 

When naething I cud dae mysel' 

He did it aye for me. 

73 



S>toeet 3fune 



4 

And in his laugh, there is a crack, 
His een are gettin' sair and blin'. 

His locks that once were curly black 
Are lookin' gray and thin. 

The simmer roses, jan by yin, 

Upon the earth's warm bosom fa'; 

But he is yin, that's far abin, 
The fairest o' them a'. 

6 

Long has he tottered down the hill, 
A man wha wis the peer o' a'; 

His life is living wi' we still 
Though he is far awa'. 



MY NANNIE O! 

I 

When the sun nods in the gowden west, 

And the gloamin' dew begins tae fa'; 
When Nature's voices are at rest, 

And flowers wi' sleep their heids let fa'; 
When a' the kye are in their hame. 

And the birds are courin', chirpin' sma'; 
Wi* a lichtsome hert a' in a flame, 

I gang and see my Nannie O. 

74 



©toeet 3fune 



I gang and see my Nannie O, 
My bonnie ain dear Nannie O ; 
My plaidie tak, and oot I go, 
Tae see my ain kind Nannie O. 

2 

Down through the fairy-haunted glen, 

Across the wrimpHn' burnie O* ; 
Up mony a stile, owre mony a fen*, 

I wander on tae Nannie O ; 
And tae myseF I croon a song, 

And aye auld love's sang cheerie O; 
Nae nicht's too dark, nor mile's too lang. 

That taks me tae my dearie, O. 

My Nannie O, my Nannie O! 
Wha widna' love my Nannie O? 
A face sae sweet, a hert sae pure, 
The pride o' woman is Nannie O. 

3 
Down by fair Girvan water's side. 

Oft mony a day I've daundered, O; 
'Twas there I met and won my bride^ 
Breathed words o' love sae tender O* 
Oh! I'll remember till I dee 

Her smile sae sweet and kindly, O; 
And the lowe o' love, that lit her ee, 
When I said, "Ye are my Nannie O." 
My Nannie O, my Nannie O; 
A world o' love has Nannie O. 

75 



%toeet 3fune 



I get a glint o' licht divine 
When I see the ee o' Nannie O. 

4 
O, weel-a-day, and come what may, 

I'll love nae ane but Nannie O; 
Not troubles wear, nor a worl's gear 

Mak' cauld my love for Nannie O. 
Though fortune's style, and woman's smile 

May wear a while, and please me, O, 
A faithfu' hert ootwears them a', 

And that's the hert o' Nannie O ! 

My Nannie O, my Nannie O! 
A world o' love has Nannie O! 
That hert's nae muckle worth the wear 
That couldna' love my Nannie O. 

5 
The king may love his royal queen. 
And belted knight his leddy, O! 
The country swain his comely Jean — 

Wi' smiles for her be ready, O. 
But there is ane, and she is fair, 

A joy tae me forever O ; 
Life wid be dreigh, the hert be puir 
If it were na' for my Nannie O. 

My Nannie O, my Nannie O! 
'Tis heaven on earth wi' Nannie O ; 
Let ithers woo and win their ain, 
To me there's just ae Nannie O. 

76 



©toeet 3[une 



6 

Oh! Thou, the Holy, Good and Great, 

Wha' paired a' things in nature O, 
Gied ilka bird his feathered mate, 

And sent tae me my Nannie O: 
I thank thee for the angel-love — 

Heaven-born for this poor manic O; 
iThat winged tae earth tae bless my life 

In the person o' my Nannie O. 

My Nannie O, my Nannie O! 
Nae ither ane but Nannie O; 
Nae mair my hert, I ca' my ain — 
It a' belongs tae Nannie O! 



SOMEBODY'S BAIRN 

I 

"Matches, matches," hear the wee laddie cry; 
^'Wha'll hae my matches, a penny will buy," 
Crying a' day, his bit bare bread tae earn. 
Oh, think, man, he's human; he's somebody's 
bairn. 



Hungry and ragged, bare-fitted and sma'. 
He daunders a' day in the sleet and the snaw. 
And the win' whustles thro' his wee body ill 

farein'. 
Oh, man, he is sufferin; he's somebody's bairn. 

11 



©toeet 3fune 



3 

Somebody's bairn — oh, what is his name? 

Faitherless, mitherless, without ony hame; 
Rinnin' the streets on a unlawfu' erran', 
He's nae aye tae blame, he wis somebody's 
bairn. 

4 
Somebody's bairn, the flowing bowl drains, 
That murders the body, and muddles the brains ; 
Oot in the gutter, baith cursin' and swearin', 
Aye! pass him like dirt, but he's somebody's 
bairn. 

5 
Somebody's bairn stands there in the room, 

While the judge on the bench tells the day o' 

his doom. 

Up on the gallows wi' death at him starin', 

Swings off tae his Maker dis somebody's bairn. 

6 
O, ye, whom the kind god o' fortune hae blest, 
Wha' follow sweet pleasure, in selfishness rest. 
And ye wha fur guidness are always declarin'. 
Gang doon on yer knees, and lift somebody's 
bairn. 

7 
God still is oor faither, and man is oor brither, 

Oor purpose in life's tae baud up ane anither. 

78 



%\x)ttt 3futte 



The fauts o' oor neebors wi' patience forbearin', 
And licht'ning the burden o' somebody's bairn. 

8 

The world disna mind verra much what you say. 
It's the wark ye hae din, it's the things that ye 

dae. 
And the thorn in the body that maks us de- 

spairin', 
Is the duty discarded tae somebody's bairn. 

9 

Yer duty awaits ye, then up and tak heed ; 

Save yer tears for the leevin'; don't wait till 

they're deid. 
That mortal on earth is for heaven preparin'. 
Whose airms are enfaulded 'roun somebody's 

bairn. 

10 

Somebody's bairn is sufferin' just noo; 

Somebody's bairn's een wat wi saut dew. 

Gie a rest tae yer tongue, let yer hert gie a 

sharin' ; 
O' love, that's sae needfu' tae somebody's bairn. 

II 

If a cup o' cauld water, tae mortals ye gie; 
The Maister has said, '*Ye have din it tae me." 
For brithers remember the truth I'm declarin': 
Yer duty will aye be, tae somebody's bairn. 

79 



%\x^m 3[une 



HYPOCRISY 

I 

If we could see folks' herts as well 
As hear the words they glibly tell 

In ways sae dottin', 
Och saints in morals wid be poor, 
And mony a life we thocht sae pure 

Wid a' be rotten. 

2 

O circe the day we dinna ken, 
Jist wha' is our foe or fren'. 

For tongues sae civil 
Drop honey frae their nebs sae red. 
And flattery is nursed and fed 

By man and devil. 

3 

Of our first daddy preachers tell 

By disobedience that he fell 

Tae Satan's grapple. 

Aye! fine we ken it, more and more — • 

Hypocrisy's the bitter core 
O' Adam's apple. 

, 4 

Gang! insincerity awa', 

Gie me a man that I can ca' 

8o 



©toeet 3fune 



A f reen sae true ; 
Who'll shun me not, though I am poor, 
But stay wi' me in shine and slioor 

And see me thro'. 

5 
O fellow-mortal, when ye gang 
And travel a' life's ways along, 

Find if ye can 
A soul as true as steel, who'll prove, 
Fur he's the ane I want tae love — 

An honest man. 

6 

O life is bitter, sometimes sweet, 
Baith vice and virtue in us meet — 

The worst and best. 
Twa sparks within our breasties dwell; 
The spark o' heaven, the spark o' hell, 

Maks damned or blest. 

7 
Sae fare ye weel, the big and sma', 

The rich and poor, the coorse and braw — 

Sober and fou! 
Whether ye gang tae heaven or hell, 
Dinna pit on, be jist yer sel' 

A' thro' and thro'. 



8i 



Stoeet 31une 



OTHER DIALECT VERSES 

MEANNESS 

I 

There's sin in every one of us, we're dying 
every breath. 

And Satan is our master, and his pay — eternal 
death. 

As long as sin is hidden, we will laugh aloud 
and shout, 

But a man feels sort o' sheepish, when his mean- 
ness finds him out. 

2 

There's a friendship you can cultivate, but poor 

it is as such ; 
If you shut your mouth ter meanness, and don't 

try ter know too much. 
But when upon the conscience, you apply the 

moral knout, 
Then man will turn and cuss you, 'cause his 

meanness found him out. 

3 

If you want ter be some popular, then jest go 

a little slow ; 
And never know the meanness, that men don't 
want you ter know. 
82 



©toeet 3fune 



For sech is human nature, that it dearly loves 

to spout 
Its moral cant to others, when its meanness 

ain't found out. 

4 
It may do to think a plenty, but it doesn't do 

ter see 
The bones within the closet, that are under 

lock and key. 
For if man knows you see them, then he'll run 

and hide about, 
For a feller is a coward, when his meanness 

finds him out. 

5 

Man's a fool to blame the people, while smart- 
ing 'neath their rod; 

It's the stinging of his conscience, it's the smit- 
ing of his God, 

And he's never free from suffering from the 
pain of moral gout. 

Oh, how he twists and wiggles, when his mean- 
ness finds him out! 

6 
The truth, however spoken, not every one does 

suit; 
You are sure to hear the snarl, when it strikes 

the savage brute 
That lurks within the carcass of the masculine 

so stout. 

83 



S>toeet 3fimc 



How the fur and claws go flying, when the tiger 
is found out! 

7 
So he gets a Httle nervous, when the jury's on 

the ground, 
His appetite is not so good, his sleep is not so 

sound. 
So he takes a short vacation, and stops with 

friends en route. 
He's inclined to do some travelling, when his 

meanness finds him out. 

8 

He has nought against the preacher, he has 
nought against the state, 

But I think his guilty conscience has been bat- 
tering him of late. 

And if, my friends, about this truth you're in 
anywise in doubt, 

Just go and ask the fellow, when his meanness 
finds him out. 

9 

But say, my friend, if I stopped here, my gospel 

would be cold, 
My moral would be blunted, and my message 

barely told. 
There is a power to cleanse the soul, all white, 

within, without ; 
And mercy waits the fellow, though his sin has 

found him out. 

84 



©toeet 3fune 



CHRISTMAS IS NOT CHRISTMAS 
WHEN THE CHILDREN ARE AWAY 

I 

Oh, Sallie, woman, what's the use of fixin' up 
this time, 

You surely ain't a-going to prepare for such a 
dine? 

I tell you things look queer around and mighty 
quiet to-day, 

For Christmas is not Christmas when the chil- 
dren are away. 

2 

Let's quit all this arrangin', if it's only for us 

two; 
We can have a wash-day dinner, just anything 

will do. 
So put away your dainties for a feast some 

other day — 
It ain't no kind of eating, when the children 

are away. 

3 
They are a heap of trouble, yet without them we 

feel lost, 

When they pick up and leave us, is the time 

we need them most. 

85 



©toeet 3fune 



I have come to the conclusion that this loneH- 

ness don't pay, 
It's as quiet as a graveyard, when the children 

are away. 

4 
About this time I'm nervous, I can hardly 

stand or sit; 
And all your finest cooking, wife, don't taste to 

me a bit. 
Let's postpone the whole occasion, O, Sal, what 

do you say? 
To me it ain't no Christmas, when the children 

are away. 

5 
Big Jim I wish a boy again, so I could kiss his 

toes. 
And Ann I wish that she were still in her long 

baby-clothes. 
iThose were the times when I was young, and 

when my heart was gay, 

Christmas with the babies, then, don't seem 

so far away. 

6 

1 love them even better than I ever did before; 
As I get a Httle older, yes, I know I love them 

more. 
Yet, I have a kind of feeling, that from my 

heart they stray — 
iThis loneliness is wearying, when the children 

are away. 

86 



S>toeet 3fune 



7 
It may sound a little selfish, but it comes straight 

from the heart, 
I often wish that Jim and Ann would from me 

ne'er depart. 
I would gladly treat with Providence, a goodly 

sum to pay. 
To fill this aching heart-void, when the children 

are away. 

8 
Perhaps I'm getting childish, that's why I wish 

them here; 
As we grow old and feeble, we just want our 

children near. 
For they can make us young again, when we 

are getting gray. 

the weary, weary Christmas, when the chil- 

dren are away. 

9 

1 have often lost my temper, when I've heard 

them romp around, 
And they don't forget the whippings, that I 

gave them, good and sound. 
But I would wish them home again, for an 

eternal stay, 
I ain't myself at Christmas, when the children 
are away. 

lO 

Yet for one thing I am thankful, though de- 
parted from my sight, 

87 



©toeet 3fune 



They are doing their full duty — they are living 

for the right. 
But 'twould cheer my heart to see them, just 

even for a day — 
It's the poorest kind of Christmas, when the 

children are away. 

II 

So put away the turkey, Sal, and don't make any 
cake; 

And let us quit this fixin' up, just for the chil- 
dren's sake. 

When Jim and Ann come home again, we'll 
have a feast that day — 

It ain't no kind of Christmas, when the children 
are away. 



THE OLD MAN 

I 

O some folks say I'm looking old, and rather 

out of date, 
That my walk is not so nimble, and my form 

is not so straight. 
But they forget my heart grows young with 

the years as they roll by, 
Though I have reached three score and ten, I'm 

keeping young and spry. 

2 

For 'tis a truth that mortal man's no older than 
he feels. 

88 



©toeet 3[une 



The wrinkled brow, the hoary head, no longer 

age reveals. 
My laugh rings clear, without a crack, my 

heart's-well ain't run dry — 
Though I have reached three score and ten, 

I'm keeping fresh and spry. 

3 
Some with the years are growing old, and some 

get young again, 
And some are old though young in years, some 

still are boys tho' men. 
Still in me burns the flame of youth, as time 

goes on the fly 
Though I have reached three score and ten, I'm 

still a boy and spry. 

4 _ 

I'm more in love than when I felt the first of 

passion's flame; 
I still can take her hand in mine, and whisper 

her dear name. 
The love-light still is shining clear, and sparkles 

from my eye. 
Though I have reached three score and ten, 

I'm courting yet and spry. 

5 
O life is not a span of years — it's naught to 

eat and sleep. 
It's cruel care, not passing time, that cuts the 
wrinkles deep. 

89 



%tom 3[une 



In disappointment's bitter cup, our carking sor- 
rows lie — 

Though I have reached three score and ten, I'm 
keeping sweet and spry. 

6 
It's not to go the ceasless grind, the mill of 

habit tread, 
It's not to weep o'er dark defeat, and wish that 

we were dead. 
It is to bravely do and dare, to rise again and 

try. 
Though I have reached three score and ten, I'm 

climbing yet and spry. 

7 . 
It's not the gold for which we slave to raise 

our social grade, 
It's not to turn our every thought to implements 

of trade. 
It's not without, it is within, where the best of 

treasures lie. 
Though I have reached three score and ten, I'm 

getting rich and spry. 

8 

Give me the smile that tunes in me, my soul- 
chords every part, 

Give me the tear that moistens all the dry 
wastes in my heart. 

The song and prayer that lift me up, and bring 
the angels nigh — 

90 



^toeet gfune 

Though I have reached three score and ten, I'm 
winging yet and spry. 

9 

And this, I pray, that come what may, you'll 
some day reach the goal; 

But this I hope, you'll reach it not, by crush- 
ing down some soul, 

For when your honor once is sold, it back you 
cannot buy — 

Though I have reached three score and ten, un- 
sold I am, and spry. 

10 

It's only here and there you'll find in the crowd 
that passes by 

A soul that lives and breathes above the fleet- 
ing things that die. 

And with unfalt'ring faith he grips the truths 
that always last, 

Begins anew his life to live, though seventy 
years are past. 

II 

Would you keep young and tender, wear a smile 

for every day? 
Then love much, pray much, hope much for the 

fellow on the way. 
And keep on courting Nature, and watch her 

forms unfold — 
It's lack of love for men and things, that makes 

us sad and old. 

91 



S^toeet 3fune 



AN IMPORTANT QUESTION 

I 

When a feller fur a gal has got love's fever 
good and strong, 

He never dreams about the church to which 
she may belong. 

So I've just a-been a-questioning myself along 
these lines, 

I wonder if Dan Cupid to religion much in- 
clines ? 

2 

Folks talk about their property, their family tree 

and rank; 
But they never talk o' sprinklin' or immersion 

in a tank. 
With this new-fangled courtin', the church 

ain't in the shine, 
For Dan Cupid to religion does not very much 

incline. 

3 
Jest muster up yer courage then, afore yer cour- 

tin's thro', 
And settle this church question right, a-tween 

yer gal and you. 
For the subject of religion is important to my 

min', 

92 



^toeet 3[une 



Even if your dear Dan Cupid does not piously 
incline. 

4 

I'm going to tell you something, you may think 

I am a fool, 
(There's a heap o' family trouble made 'bout that 

air Bible pool — 
The breeder of discord at home, in one case 

out of nine, 
All because that dear Dan Cupid does not 

piously incline. 

5 . 

And when the baby's sprinkled, then your wor- 
ries will begin ; 

Your wife gets simply furious, for she says it 
is a sin 

To the so-called pagan custom, she will never 
be resigned. 

All because that dear Dan Cupid was not piously 
inclined. 

6 

For don't you think, my critic friend, it looks 
a little queer. 

To see your wife a-cherching there, and you 
a-cherching here? 

The family peace and comfort, to oblivion con- 
signed. 

All because that dear Dan Cupid was not piously 
inclined. 

93 



@)toeet 3fune 



7 
There will never come a time, I guess, when 

folks will cease to mate, 
But I'm thinking that the family's pews a-gettin* 

out o' date. 
There exists a mongrel church breed, that a 

sage could not define, 
All because that dear Dan Cupid does not piously 

incline. 

8 

So I say to you young fellers, when about to 

fix yer plan. 
Court a gal of yer persuasion, win her, wed her, 

if you can. 
If you marry a cherch farriner, endless trouble 

you will find. 
Fur I tell you dear Dan Cupid is not piously 

inclined. 



BLUE-POINTS 
Sweeten your vinegar. 



Tune your giggling string. 



Never let pickle get into you; and don't get 
into a pickle. 

94 



§)toeet 3fune 



Vinegar "on menu" is all right; "in men" it 
is a nuisance. 



Give your tongue the "rest cure" now and 
then. 



Put a sticking plaster over your mouth; and 
you will never have to put one over your heart. 

Walk on the sunny side of the street. 



Don't go "porcupining ;" keep your bristles 
down. 



Keep cool when it is hot; there is enough of 
fire on earth lit by the "matches" made in 
heaven. 



Never argue with your wife when the mer- 
cury is ninety in the shade ; and above all things 
be sure and don't kick the cat. 



When the baby has the colic, keep sweet. 



When you fall, keep your nerves; and draw 
music out of them with the bow of your smile, 

95 



S>toeet 3futte 



A tear rarely ever travels farther than your 
face ; but your smile vi^ill travel the world 
around. 

Be a bee ; and always remember your capacity 
to make honey, but try to forget you have a 
sting. 

The man whose face is wreathed in golden 
giggles, never looks at the world through blue 
goggles. 



The hand-shake will bring dividends to the 
bank of happiness ; the collar-shake, never. 



Keep your head cool and your feet warm. 



Take a dose of the tincture of "Lose your 
heart on somebody" three times a day between 
meals ; smile well before using, and when you 
die you will be ready for heaven. 



Keep your eye on the sign, "Danger ahead;' 
look out for your spleen. 



Follow the bee, but never the buzzard. 

96 



©toeet 3futte 



When you get hot under the collar, go and 
take a shower bath. 



Never fall in love — walk in; and be sure and 
leave a way open, if retreat is necessary. 

Sing your moods away, as the sun smiles 
away the morning fog. 



Don't build your bridges out of "dream 
smoke." 



Plant a grin in place of a grunt, a smile in 
place of a sneer, in the garden of your heart; 
and if your enemy breaks through your fences, 
subdue him if you can by bombarding him with 
thornless roses. 



There has been a "War of The Roses," but 
there has never been a war among the roses. 



Die smiling. 



97 



§)toeet 3!une 



THE BLUES 

I 

When a feller's gettin' sort o' down, and worn 

low at the heels, 
And a feelin' that he haint a friend, around him 
kind o' steals. 
O ! brother, I'm a hopin' my advice ye won't 

refuse. 
When I tell ye that a song and smile can 
drive away the blues. 

2 

It isn't what a feller has, it's what he is within 
That makes this earth a paradise, and man a 
walkin' grin ; 
For life is either foul or fair — we can make 

it what we choose ; 
Come, tickle up your smile, ol' man, and 
charm away the blues. 

. . 3 

Fm a wonderin' if them croakers, who at Provi- 
dence complain, 
Could improve the looks of nature, in her fine 
and fair domain. 
O ! could they make the rose so sweet, and 

wash its breast with dews? 
I'm a thinking that them fellers need some 
doctoring fur the blues. 

98 



^tocet 3fune 



4 . 
O ! let them paint the rainbow fair, that spans 

the smiHnp^ sky ; 
And sing the stream's sweet lullaby, as it is 
crooning" nigh. 
And could they pile these mountains grand, 

that with the heavens muse? 
Pshaw ! them fellers need a song and smile 
to drive away the blues. 



5 
And women — God's fair creatures, who are a 

living here — 
Eve's wingless daughters — that are so mysteri- 
ously dear. 
Angel-woman from a "spare-rib," let them 

make one if they choose? 
By gum ! I think them fellers need a "spare- 
rib" fur the blues. 



6 
Don't you know, my chronic croaker, that folks 

and everything 
Were placed in this 'ere circle to smile, to love 
and sing? 
God in the pathway of our life, more joys 

than sorrows strews : 
What bizness has a feller goin' huntin' fur 
the blues? 



99 



S>toeet 3fune 



7 
Fur if yer seekin' trouble, shucks! you'll find it 

right er long ; 
Yer jest a fool to chant a dirge, when ye can 
sing a song. 
Get out and bathe in sunshine, and you will 

surely lose 
The sorrow that embitters, and that makes 
the bluest blues. 



8 
Yes, the shadows are a plenty, but the sunlight's 

falling near; 
There's a sweet fur every bitter, there's a smile 
fur every tear. 
Pour out your own heart's 'intment, and 

some poor soul infuse 
With the fragrance that is sartain fur the 
curing o' the blues. 



9 

Dry up yer tears, my brother, there is some- 
thing you can do ; 
Lift up the winder of yer heart, and let the sun- 
shine thro'. 
There are plenty folks aroun' ye, to com- 
fort and enthuse — 
There haint no use o' anyone a dying with 
the blues. 



100 



Stoeet 3[une 



lO 

And ye who are a rolling rich, in houses and in 

lands, 
Who kind o* feel that time is jest a hangin* on 
yer hands. 
Sail down the widder's Cabbage Patch, on 

love's delightful cruise, 
And help the little Wiggses there to drive 
away the blues. 

II 
It's not so much yer money that we mortals 

crave a share ; 
Yer sympathy is what our hearts are now a 
hung'ring fur. 
There's no excuse fur rich or poor a living 

in the "stews" 
When smiles and chuckles flit around to 
drive away the blues. 

12 

There's a flower that God has planted in the 

garden of each heart — 
The flower of love — from heaven; untouched, 
unsoiled by art ; 
And it somehow smells the sweetest when 

marked by sorrow's bruise. 
Its fragrance is the surest cure fur every 
kind o' blues. 



lOI 



©toeet 3[une 



GIT THARE 

I 

Buckle down and go to work 

Git Thare! 
Up ol' sluggard, loose yer shirk 

Git Thare! 
Shining dollars never cum 
To the chap that wants ter bum 
Up ! and stir, and make things hum 

Git Thare! 

2 

Quit yer talkin' ; Stop yer blowin' 

Git Thare! 
Keep yer feet, and fingers goin' 

Git Thare! 
Can't git "thinks" without brain-soakin' 
Can't fill bin and pantry — smokin' 
Can't pay taxes by yer croakin' 

Git Thare! 

3 
Sun is up and time fer havin' 

Git Thare! 
Roll yer sleeves, and quit yer prayin' 

Git Thare! 
Be a busy while it's sunny 
Lazy bees nar makin' honey 
Can't git bread without ar money 

Git Thare! 

102 



©toeet 3fune 



4 
Though the day be foul and fair 

Git Thare! 
Tortoise once did beat er hare 

Git Thare! 
Bear it out in cold or heat 
Hoi' yer nerve and still ''keep sweet" 
Don't give up, and say "I'm beat" 

Git Thare! 

5 
Many riches all er round 

Git Thare! 
Gold and silver in er ground 

Git Thare! 
See ye do yer diggin' v^^ell 
Faithful pluggin' soon will tell. 
Cum ! git out o' that ar shell 

Git Thare! 



FEELING FINE 

I 
I'm jest a feelin' fine; 

Aint you? 
Feelin' that way all a time. 

Aint you? 
Tryin' to keep out er muddle; 
Helpin' others out o' trouble; 
Plantin' wheat among er stubble. 

Aint you? 
103 



@)toeet 31une 



2 

I'm jest a feelin' fine; 

Aint you? 
Walkin' in the sunny-shine. 

Aint you? 
Don't pay to go a "dumping;" 
Into folkses' business bumping; 
And yer fellows' faults a thumping. 

'Twont do ! 

3 
I'm jest a feelin' fine; 

Aint you? 
Makin' folkses' sorrows mine. 

Aint you? 
Keepin' sweet with passing years; 
Keep a dryin' some one's tears; 
Plantin' smiles in place o' sneers. 

Aint you? 

4 

I'm jest a feelin' fine; 

Aint you? 
Smiles are alius in my line; 

Fur you? 
Keep fur years, and don't git stale; 
Hearts to win, they never fail ; 
Give 'em free — they haint fur sale. 

Do you? 

5 
I'm jest a feelin' fine; 

Aint you? 

104 



©toeet 3luine 



Feelin' that way all a time. 

Aint you? 
Talkin' with the birds fur hours; 
Hear the music in er showers; 
Keepin' company with er flowers. 

Aint you? 

6 

I'm jest a feelin' fine; 

Aint you? 
Feelin' that way all the time. 

Aint you? 
Got within a garden fair; 
Blushing roses blowing there; 
Raining violets everywhere. 
That's why I'm feelin' fine. 

Aint you? 



KEEP A SMILING 

I 

When yer in the blues and down, 
Keep a smiling. 

Smiles don't cost more than a frown, 
Then keep smiling. 

Though it's raining hard to-day, 

Clouds will lift and clear away; 

Things can't alius go yer way. 
Keep a smiling. 

105 



S>toeet 3fune 



2 

Though the thorns oft prick yer feet, 
Walk on smiHng. 

When yer giant troubles meet. 

Face them smiling. 

Though we're all to sorrow born; 

Darkness flies before the morn, 

Sweetest roses have their thorn, 
So keep smiling. 

3 

Crosses all we have to bear. 

Meet them smiling. 
Little crosses here and there. 

Brave them smiling. 
They were sent to make you strong, 
Help you o'er the way along. 
Up ! and lift them with a song ; 

Bear them smiling. 

4 
If ye feel yer down and out, 

Keep on smiling. 
Hold to life and brave it out. 

Hold on smiling. 
Ne'er say "die" to any foe; 
Give him blow for every blow. 
And when life is ebbing low, 

Die a smiling. 



io6 



©toeet 3[une 



A MAN 

I 

Say! ain't he a peach! 
Got a heart 
As big as an ox, 
That goes clean down to his sox« 
Shines out of his eyes 
And burns in his hand. 
My land! 

He's alius at the old stand 
Doin' fur some one : 
Fillin' the widow's bin, 
Feedin' the orphan; 
Wants himself to give to his kin. 
His heart's beat 
Makes music sweet ; 
And the sorrows and woe 
Of us fellers here below 
He keeps a lightening 
With a merry ring 
And hearty laughter. 
He ain't a seekin' trouble, 
Yet trouble's what he's after. 
He's grand! 

Fur love '*he beats the band." 
Never more happy 
Than when he's giving — 
Giving he says is his living. 
107 



Stoeet 3Iutte 



Say! ain't he a bird! 

Doin' all this without er word. 

Never will blow it; 

Don't want folks ter know it. 

Does he do it all the while? 

Well, I should smile. 

He's jest fine; 

I wish there were more in his line. 

2 

Say ! ain't he a peach ! 

Got a soul as white as the arctic snow. 

He's the feller you want ter know. 

Got a clean mouth, too — 

Alius says something sweet and true; 

Never is shady ; 

Can repeat what he says to any lady. 

Makes no difference who's around, 

You just know 

It's so, 

What he says. 

He won't flatter 

Nor will he batter 

The faults of his fellers. 

He's plum fair 

And square. 

A chance to praise he'll never miss 

Though he ain't in the taffy biz. 

He's jest true 

All the way thro'. 

By Jim ! 

They ain't no rotten spots on him. 

io8 



©toeet 3fune 



Now what do you think 

He is? 

I think he's a man! 

Don't vou? 

By Jim! 

I wish there were more like him. 



SONGS 

MOLLIE SINGS 

I 
.When I am feeling lonely, and somewhat sort of 
sad, 
And the cold winds of misfortune 'round me 
blow, 
There is nothing that can cheer me, or make my 
spirit glad, 
Than to hear my Mollie sing so soft and low. 
Than to hear my Mollie sing so soft and low. 
O she sings, sweetly sings, with a fine soul- 
soothing ring — 
My eyes begin to water, when I hear my Mollie 
sing. 

2 

There is a nook within her, all aflame with Na- 
ture's spark. 
Her lips and eyes burn with melodious fire. 

109 



©toeet 3[une 



And the one who is her teacher, is the one who 
taught the lark 
To sing the sweeter as he soars the higher. 
To sing the sweeter as he soars the higher. 
O she sings, sweetly sings, with a gentle, wing- 
ing ring— ' 
My heart begins to flutter, when I hear my 
Mollie sing. 

3 

You know there is a difference in expression 

and in tone. 
It's more than voice that strikes the notes so 
true. 
It's the soul of Mollie singing that melts my 

heart of stone. 
And in my life she turns the dark to blue. 
And in my life she turns the dark to blue. 
O she sings, sweetly sings, with a mirth-provok- 
ing ring, 
All over I am smiling when I hear my Mollie 
sing. 

4 

O do you know the secret, why my Mollie sings 
vSo well? 
Why she sets my blood to tingling in its flow ? 
If you could hear her singing, it would not be 
hard to tell — 
My Mollie's heart was broken long ago. 
My Mollie's heart was broken long ago. 

no 



%toeet 3Iune 



she sings, sweetly sings, with a strange, pa- 

thetic ring — 

1 have drained the cup of sorrow, so I feel my 

Mollie sing. 

5 
The mocking-birds and thrushes all bow their 

heads and hush 
And stop and listen to my Mollie's notes; 
They can never keep on singing while they hear 
the magic rush 
Of harmony, as through the air it floats. 
Of harmony, as through the air it floats. 
O she sings, sweetly sings, with a soul-posses- 
sing ring — 
Dear Nature stops to listen when she hears my 
Mollie sing. 

6 

While lying sick one day, her spirit flew away 

And left me here all songless and alone. 
Now Mollie's gone away to the place that's al- 
ways day. 
Where I know that she will ever feel at home. 
Where I know that she will ever feel at home. 
Now she sings, sweetly sings, with an all-im- 
mortal ring — 
The angels must be smiling, for they hear my 
Mollie sing. 



Ill 



S>toeet Sfune 



ELKHORN 

I 

O Nature, thou art ever fair, 

And ever fair thou art to me. 
Thy radiant spirit's everywhere 

On mountain height and grassy lea. 
In sweet Kentucky love I thee ! 

Where laurel blooms and blue-grass grows. 
But thou art dearest all to me, 

Where dreamingly the Elkhorn flows. 

Sweet silver Elkhorn, 

I hear thy music in my dreams. 
Clear, rippling Elkhorn — 

Queen of all the Blue-Grass streams. 

2 

All through the sunny hours in June 

I listen to thy limpid strain 
That lulls to softer, sweeter tune 

The music in my heart and brain. 
But O to dream these hours away! 

And feel the magic of thy flow. 
What more need I of charm to stay? 

What more of simple joy to know ? 

3 
O Elkhorn, thou must surely know 

The time when I my loved one meet, 

112 



©toeet 3futte 



For in the evening-'s soft'ning glow 
I hear thee say, "To love is sweet." 

"To love is sweet," thou'rt whisp'ring now, 
With voice untouched, untrained by art. 

Sing on, fair Elkhorn, gently thou! 
Sing to my love-awakened heart! 

4 
O Elkhorn, fairest of the fair! 

That shimmers in the sunlight's beams. 
O Elkhorn, rarest of the rare! 

With dancing ripples, curls and gleams 
Of all the jewels I have seen 

In Nature's realm, I prize thee best — 
Thee Elkhorn — diamond-pure serene 

That glitters on Kentucky's breast. 



Frankfort, Kentucky. 



I WANT TO GO BACK TO THE OLD 

TOWN 

I 

I want to go back to the old town 
Where hallowed memories grow, 

To see the old place 

And look in the face 
Of one who was young long ago. 
I want to go back to the old home, 

113 



^toeet 3!une 



Where I first felt the th robbings of life, 

Where tender caress 

And smothering kiss 
Were given by mother and wife. 
I want to go back to the old town, 
Where I lived in the days of yore, 

While nature is smiling 

With beauty beguiling. 
I want to go back once more. 

2 

I want to go back to the old stream. 
Where I saw the finny tribe play 
'Neath a shady nook 

With bait on the hook 
I have spent there many a day. 
I want to go back to the old field 
That lies by the edge of the wood, 

Where the corn used to grow 

In a soldierly row, 
And I used to day-dream and brood. 
I want to go back to the old town, 
Where I lived in the days of yore, 

While sunshine and showers 

Are making the flowers. 
I want to go back once more. 

3 

I want to go back to the old tree 
And sit 'neath its cooling shade, 

Where I first felt the flame, 
And whispered her name, 

114 



©toeet 3fune 



And breathed out the love God made. 

I want to go back to the old well 

And drink of its water so free, 

As it sings in the ground 
With a leap and a bound 

No music is sweeter to me. 

I want to go back to the old town, 

Where I lived in the days of yore, 
While bird-folks assemble 
And make the air tremble. 

I want to go back once more. 

4 

I want to go back to the old flowers 

That grow 'long the fence and the wall, 
The white columbine, 
The fern and the vine, 

And the rose that is sweetest of all. 

I want to go back to the old scenes 

And live them all over again. 
The city's a bore; 
I'm tired of its roar — 

The pale faces of women and men. 

I want to go back to the old town. 

Where I lived in the days of yore, 
Where Spring is awaking 
And blossoms are breaking, 

I want to go back once more. 



"5 



©toeet 3fune 



JUNE 

I 

Fades the blush of dawn 
In the morning light. 

The sun is mirrored 
In the dew-drop bright. 

2 

Wave ripples of gold 

On the wind-swept wheat. 
The thrush is singing 

To her mate so sweet. 

3 

There's a bee in the rose 
A-humming its tune, 

While its petals are kissed 
With the breath of June. 

4 
The air blows sweets 

From the heart of flowers, 
And the leaves sing "drip" 

Thro' the showery hours. 

5 
I've buried my sorrow 
And dried my tear, 

ii6 



S)toeet 3fune 



For heaven's on earth. 
Since June is here. 

6 
O June's in my heart, 

And I wish this hour, 
That I were the dew, 

And my love the flower. 



MARCH 

I 

O March, the biggest braggart of the seasons 
'neath the sun, 
A howHng and a scowling here and there. 

She wants to make all mortals think that win- 
ter's just begun — 
The fastest flirt in Nature, I declare. 

And with her clammy fingers her half-frozen 
kisses fling 

To old winter she is fooling, while coquetting 
with the spring. 

2 

She weeps a while and smiles a while, and then 
she's on the go — 
A creature of impulses warm and cold. 
She throws a beam of sunshine here, and there 
a flake of snow ; 
O fickle March, both fancy free and bold! 
117 



©toeet 3fune 



And thro' the woods and o'er the hill, I hear her 

wildly sing, 
**I am fooling with old winter, while coquetting 

with the spring." 

3 
The cold damp winds are blowing the deep 
crinkles in her dress, 
As it flaps around her ankles and her shin, 
And her hair is all dishevelled, and Fm not 
afraid to guess 
She never had a comb in't, nor a pin. 
But I'm sure she doesn't care, she has two beaus 

to her string — 
Old Winter she is fooling, while coquetting with 
the Spring. 

4 
O she's fickle, false and fair, and her love is 
never deep; 
Her wrath is rising when she's feigning death. 
And when you think she's nestled in the winter- 
land to sleep, 
She comes again and blows her icy breath. 
So there's no use counting on her, the breezy, 

blatant thing; 
She keeps fooling with old Winter, while coquet- 
ting with the Spring. 

5 
But she needn't try to fool me, though she 

blusters long and loud, 
Ii8 



S)toeet 3fune 



For I hear the little robins 'round me peep. 
Yes, the Spring will soon be coming, for its sign 
is in the cloud; 
And I see the baby-flowers upward creep. 
The air is full of humming, for the bees are on 

the wing, 
While she's fooling with old Winter, and co- 
quetting with the Spring. 

6 

Miss March ! You can't deceive me with all your 
blast and blow, 
For I see the Spring a smiling 'neath your 
frown. 

A gown of green is lying, below your dress of 
snow; 
And the trees are putting on their buds of 
down. 

Throughout the woods and o'er the hill the 
laughing waters sing, 

While you're fooling with old Winter, and co- 
quetting with the Spring. 



MEMORIES 

I 

'Tis not to me the book that's precious so, 
Nor shining truth that in its pages glow. 
Dearer than all to me it ever stands, 

119 



S)toeet 3Iune 



Because 'twas penciled with my loved one's 
hands. 

My loved one's hands. 

2 

'Tis not the rose once red that I now greet — 
With crimson lips that kissed the sunlight sweet, 
But, oh, to me, though withered, it is fair. 
It nestled once within my loved one's hair. 

My loved one's hair. 

3 

'Tis not the pen with polished point of gold 
That stirs my blood, or freshens memories old, 
But, oh, the tears flow fast, when it I see, 
Penned from her soul, the words of love to me. 

Of love to me. 

4 
'Tis not the lane of flowers, or gentle stream. 
That make them sacred to my young love's 

dream. 
But 'tis the thought; there love was free from 

art. 
In twilight stillness heart was lost in heart. 

Was lost in heart. 

5 
'Tis not the home, though dear its every stone, 
That makes me cling to it, though I'm alone, 
But, oh, 'twas there, when came the evening 

gray, 

120 



^tocet glune 

Whispered my love "good-bye" and passed 

away. 

And passed away. 



KATHLEEN. 

I 

O Kathleen, you remember in the days of long 

ago 
The songs we often sung both sad and gay, ^ 
By the fire-side in the winter, and the summer s 

evening glow ; , . . 

How we loved and dreamed the golden hours 

away. ^ ,.. , 

And in that cloudless noon of life, there came 

no care or frown, , 

To mar our virgin happiness away m County 

Down. 

Away in County Down 
No girl is fairer, sweeter. 
Than Kathleen; none discreeter. 
And for beauty who can beat her? 

Away in County Down. 

2 

Every spot around that country will be always 

dear to me, , -. ^ ^ 4. 

It was there that love mto my heart tirst 

came. 

121 



©toeet 3fune 



Oh, the angels smiled upon us, from fair 

heaven's balcony, 
When they saw our hearts were burning 

with the flame. 
Dear nature walked in beauty, and had on her 

greenest gown, 
When Cupid pulled our heart strings away 

in County Down. 

Away in County Down, 
There my heart first set aflaming, 
I my bride was then a claiming. 
And the wedding day was naming. 
Away in County Down. 

3 

these years of joy and gladness are gone for- 

ever more. 
Like the stream whose waters ne'er return 
again. 

1 would fain be living over my youth in days 

of yore, 
And taste again its pleasure touched with 

pain. 
But my weary feet must wander this dreary 

world aroun' 
For my shattered hopes lie buried with 

Kathleen in County Down. 

Away in County Down 
The winds are sobbing, sighing 
O'er the grave where Kathleen's lying, 

122 



^toeet 3[une 



And my broken heart is crying, 
Away in County Down. 



MOLLIE MAGUIRE. 

I 

O Mollie Maguire 

Was the sweetest colleen 

That ever w^as seen 
In the town of Coleraine. 

Her eyes were sky-blue. 

Of Italian hue, 
Her tears were the softest rain. 

But Mollie Maguire 

Has set me on fire, 
And left in my heart a pain. 

2 

O Mollie Maguire! 

I'm afraid of you now. 

You remember the vow 
That you made in Coleraine, 

But your promises pass 

Like the sand through the glass- 
Pass away like the wind and rain. 

Och Mollie Maguire ! 

To the devil would hire, 
Could she shatter my heart again. 
123 



©toeet 3fune 



3 

O MolHe Maguire! 

I'm a loving you still, 

To my sad heart's fill, 
Far away from Coleraine. 

I still think of thee — 

A sweet memory — 
The bitter and sweet of my pain. 

O Mollie Maguire— 

The seller and buyer 
Of a score of hearts in Coleraine. 



THE HARVEST. 

I. 

No wonder the cynics chuckle 

When lawyers get busy and bold. 
It's a certain sign, all along the line, 
That the altar of love is cold. 

And the one who was fair, 
Whose beauty was rare. 
Looks haggard and pinched and old. 
For she sold herself for a title, 
And he for a pot of gold. 

No wonder she's looking so old! 

2. 

No wonder the editors print 
The headlines of the nuptial sell 

124 



%)x}ttt 'Sunt 



Of the American Queen, the prettiest seen, 
And the poor Lord who did well. 
Of the silver and gold, 
And the gifts manifold, 
And the home that will soon be hell. 
O the woes 'neath the velvet and ermine! 
And the heartaches — who can tell? 

No wonder the newspapers sell. 

.3- 
No wonder the Lordlings laugh 

When the heiress sells out her soul 
For a grand coronet, then pays off the debt 
Of the Earl that's down in a hole. 
But the Honey will soon 
Alelt away from the Moon. 
When her Lord the dollars will dole 
To his pals of the Monte Carlo, 

From whom he borrowed and stole. 

No wonder he married for gold. 

4. . 
No wonder her lovers smile 

When creditors on her descend, 
To pay for the lace to deck out His Grace. 
Yes, the heiress with title must spend. 
There's an ebb and a flow 
In all mortals, you know. 
And the fellow that borrows must lend. 
O the woman that barters love's jewel away 
To the uttermost cent must atone. 

No wonder her heart is a stone. 

125 



Stoeet 3[une 



5. 

No wonder the preachers preach 

And point out the moral thereby, 
That we get what we give, as sure as we live, 

We are paid in our coin by and by. 
And we only get wheat 
When conditions we meet. 

In the earth, the sun and the sky, 
If we root from our hearts the tares of wrong, 

Then the wheaten truth shall lie, 
And spring up and defy the throng. 

6. 

No wonder the parent's sad. 

Both broken in hope, and in pride. 
For our own flesh and blood has brought in the 
flood, 
And swept us away with the tide. 
O the sin and the shame, 
By the child of our name! 
Are the hardest of all to abide. 
But blood is thicker than water, you know, 
And bone is deeper than hide. 

No wonder we love in despair. 

7. 

O what will her morrow be? 

She has sinned to her very heart's root. 
Who has stepped from her course, to the way of 
remorse. 

And eaten sin's bitter fruit. 

126 



S)toeet 3fune 



O God in the name 

Of the dear Christ who came ! 
Have mercy upon her we pray. 
Herself she has sold for a title and gold, 
She has had her harvest and pay, 
But Lord, thou art loving alway. 



12? 



BROADWAY PUBUSHING CO'S 
NEWEST BOOKS 

All Bound in Silk Cloth and Gilt. Many Illustrated 

Fiction 

The Eyes at the Window (beautifully bound, with 

embossed jacket) — Olivia Smith Cornelius. . . .$l .50 

Next-Night Stories — C. J. Messer i .25 

Arthur St. Clair of Old Fort Recovery— S. A. D. 

Whipple 1 . 50 

Barnegat Yarns — F. A. Lucas i . 00 

Jean Carroll, with six illustrations — John H. Case i . 50 

As a Soldier Would — Abner Pickering 1 . 50 

The Nut-Cracker, and Other Human Ape Fables — 

C. E. Blanchard, M.D 1 . 00 

Moon-Madness, and Other Fantasies — Aimfe 

Crocker Gouraud (5th ed.) , i .00 

Sadie, or Happy at Last — May Shepherd i . 50 

Tweed, a Story of the Old South — S. M. Swales . . i , 50 
The White Rose of the Miami— Mrs. E. W. 

Ammerman 1 . 50 

The Centaurians — Biagi i . 50 

The Reconstruction of Elinore Wood — Florenz S. 

Merrow i . 50 

A Nest of Vipers — Morgan D. Jones i . 50 

Religious Worlcs 

The Disintegrating Church — Frederick William 

Atkinson i . 00 

Evolution of Belief — J. W. Gordon i , 50 

Down Hill and Up Hill — Rev. J. G. Anderson. . 2.00 

A Certain Samaritan — Rev. John Richelsen i . 00 

The Reunion of Christendom — Francis Goodman i . 50 
What the Church Is and What It Should Be— 

Lafayette Swindle 1 . 50 

A Harp of the Heart. (Poems) — Rev. Chas. 

Coke Woods i . 00 

The Gospel Parables in Verse — Rev. Christopher 

Smith 75 

Who? Whence? Where? An Essay by Pedro 

Batista i . 00 

Compendium of Scriptural Truths — Marshall 

Smith 1.25 

The Passion Play at Ober Ammergau — Esse Esto 

Maplestone i . 00 

Israel Lo Ammi — Ida M. Nungasser i .00 



The Eternal Evangel — Solomon S. Hilscher $i .50 

A New Philosophy of Life — J. C. Coggins i .00 

Romance of the Universe — B. T. Stauber 1 . 50 

In the Early Days — Adelaide Hickox i . 50 

The New Theology — By a Methodist Layman — 
Hamilton White 1 .00 

Miscellaneous 

Anvil Sparks — Radical Rhymes and Caustic 

Comments, by Wilby Heard 75 

The Medical Expert and Other Papers — Louis J. 

Rosenberg 50 

The Little Sufferers (dealing with the Abuses of 

the Children's Societies) — G. Martin i .50 

Eureka, a Prose Poem — S. H, Newberry i . 00 

Rust (a play in four acts) — Algernon Tassin (of 

Columbia University) i . 00 

Poems by Charles Guinness . i . 00 

Prohibition and Anti-Prohibition — Rommel, 

Ziegler & Herz 1 . 00 

Gay Gods and Merry Mortals — Verse by Robert J. 

Shores i . 00 

The Rubaiyat of the College Student — Ned Nafe .50 
The Deluge of England, and Other Poems — James 

Francis Thierry 1 . 00 

The Dragon's Teeth — a Philosophical and Eco- 
nomic Work — T. M. Sample i .00 

Achsah, the Sister of Jairus — Mabel Cronise 

Jones I . GO 

The Marriage Bargain Counter — Daisy Deane . . i . 50 
Building a New Empire — Nathaniel M. Ayers. . 1.50 

Marriage and Divorce — Jeanette Laurance i . 00 

The Clothespin Brigade — Clara L. Smiley 75 

" Forget It " — Ida Von Claussen i . 50 

The Last Word: a Philosophical Essay — James 

and Mary Baldwin i . 00 

Travel 

Eight Lands in Eight Weeks (illustrated by 90 
drawings) — Marcia P. Snyder i .25 

Eliza and Etheldreda in Mexico — Patty Guthrie 
(illustrated) 1.25 

The attention of clergymen is directed to our Religious List, one 
of the largest of any house in America. 

Write for free copy of our magazine, BOOK CHAT. 

BROADWAY PUBLISHING CO., 835 BROADWAY, N. Y. 

Branch Offices: 

ATLANTA BALTIMORE INDIANAPOLIS NORFOLK 

WASHINGTON DES MOINES, IOWA 



016 



235 



041 9 



r 



